


Take Caution

by cassassin



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: AgentCanary, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Did I mention beloved bi Sameen Shaw makes a guest appearance, Explicit Language, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Alex Danvers, SuperCorp subtly slowburning in the background, Therapist Brainiac, Therapist Gideon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 09:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassassin/pseuds/cassassin
Summary: After four years, Alex Danvers decided to shed her combatant gear to become a pediatrician in National City. In order to ease her readjustment back to a normal life, she was requested by her commanding officer to attend weekly group therapy at the local community church. Between sleepless nights of combat training and patching up wounded soldiers on the field, group therapy was supposed to be the easiest part.Cue Sara Lance.(No Powers AU)





	1. The Kumbaya Circle

Another brutal 12-hour shift done and dusted.

In the span of a single workday, Alex had treated two jammed fingers, a busted ankle, two fractured legs, 10 colds (one was an allergic reaction to pollen but of course, a helicopter parent’s opinion trounced her Stanford medical degree), and one unfortunate bee sting on the back of an unknowing 14-year-old’s neck. Spring was supposed to represent fresh beginnings and new life, but all the blooming flowers and rising temperatures have only done was fill up her work schedule.

Despite the exhaustion and proximity to sick children, Alex didn’t mind her job. In fact, she actually quite liked it — between working with kids and dealing with adults, the former had always been an easier task for her. There wasn’t a need for small talk or _yes-_ _I’m-still-single-Linda-whose-grandson-is-also-a-doctor._

Perhaps it’s the simplicity of children that made her choose pediatrician as a post-combat career. Maybe she thought that by spending a good portion of her time with humans half her height but brimming with naive intelligence and youthful innocence, she could cure herself from the grave outlook she had adopted on life and death.

Yeah, spending four years in the field as a combat medic would do that to you.

Alex didn’t regret serving the military, but she did wish that she could forget half of the things that she saw. As much as she willed herself to move on and readjust to everyday life in National City, the sound of a distant IED going off would always haunt her.

It took the aggressive buzzing of her phone to yank her back to reality — the fourth floor of the hospital parking garage, where her prized Yamaha had been waiting since six in the morning.

“What’s up, Kara?”

Laughter could be heard in the background. Was that Winn or Lena? She couldn’t tell. “Hey Alex! Are you on your way?”

“Yeah, I just got out of work.” Alex winced. Damn, now she’s going to get chewed out in three, two, one...

“Just now? You’re kidding me! Alex, working 10 hours _everyday_ is not good for you physically, or mentally, or psychologically. You should know, since you’re the doctor.”

“Technically, it was 12 hours.”

“Alex Danvers, you are not helping your case.”

“I know! I’m sorry. Tiny children fingers needed fixing and snotty noses needed wiping.”

Kara paused, groaned, then sighed in defeat. “One day, I’m going to shackle you down to a chair, turn on Netflix, and force you to just… take it easy for once.”

Alex couldn’t help but widen her smile into a grin. She had always been the one to look out for her baby sister, beating up bullies and ex-boyfriends who dared upset scrawny teenage Kara even in the slightest of ways. Their dad was proud of Alex for being the protective older sister, but Mom didn’t find it endearing when Alex gave Kelley Foster a bloody nose for “accidentally” tripping Kara during the winter musical. Right, and it was an accident when Kelley’s face fell into Alex’s knuckles.

“You’re going, right? To the thing tonight?”

“Yes Kara, and it’s okay to call it group therapy.”

Every soldier had to go through psychological testing and assessment upon returning from war, and Alex was no exception. She passed it with flying colors (as with every other test she had ever taken), even earning the stamp of approval to head back to medical school and finish up her "civilian doctor degree," as Winn liked to call it. But Lieutenant John Jones said group counseling was protocol, and who was she to defy her commanding officer?

Kara giggled in the midst of loud background commotion. “Everyone’s over at my place for game night. Come after group therapy?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

After hanging up the call, Alex caught glimpse of the time before slipping her phone into her bag. _Crap._ She was going to be late for her first group session; she wondered if it was going to be a trust-and-share-circle or speaker-and-indifferent-audience sort of deal. Regardless of sitting arrangements, Alex hastily fastened her riding helmet and mentally prepared herself for an hour-long spiel of kumbayas.

* * *

It turned out to be a share circle.

The space — which was really just a musty event room at the National City Community Church — was modest in size at best. Even as Alex stayed in an isolated corner while nervously fiddling with her phone, she could practically smell the box of sugar donuts that sat on a table across the room, right next to the presumably-busted coffee machine. God, she knew that this was protocol, but this resembled close to nothing she thought she signed up for.

“Alex! So glad you could join us.” Gideon chirped, a familiar pep in her voice that Alex usually heard from seasoned medical professionals. Alex flashed a tight smile, something new patients would do whenever she employed the same tone during examinations.

The session was going to be headed by Dr. Gideon Wrider, a young, well-dressed brunette with an enthralling British lilt and an unfortunate last name. Alex met her briefly in a medical seminar (something about meditation for children with ADHD, or was it anxiety?) and took a liking to her, not only for her genuineness but also her ability to suss out bullshit as she saw it. Perhaps that came with the territory of being a therapist to clammed-up, trauma-filled adults.

From the looks of it, her session-mates were either recovering addicts, raging alcoholics, or both. Did she mistakenly stumble into an AA meeting instead? Did Kara set her up for this behind her back? Sure, Alex indulged in copious amounts of whisky _sometimes_ during wedding parties or on randomly-selected Saturdays, but it didn’t warrant being secretly nominated to join an Alcoholics Anonymous group… did it?

When it was Alex’s turn in the kumbaya circle to introduce herself, she kept it as brief and vague as possible. It was part of her previous job description to keep things classified, and considering that she’d be the first one to break the _and-I’m-an-alcoholic_ trend would bring undesirable attention to herself. She had no interest in sharing her feelings with a group of strangers — half of whom probably wouldn’t even show up next week. Alex received a couple of sympathetic nods for her “night terrors and insomnia,” but otherwise, she faded into the background.

“Alright, we have five minutes left. Anybody else who wants to share,” Gideon took a beat, her eyes scanning the room of unmatched gazes. All but one. “Sara?”

“You remember my name,” The blonde quipped, a smirk settling easily on her face. “I’m touched.”

At that point in time, Alex wanted to hate Sara and the smugness that basically radiated off of her. Time had been moving at an agonizingly slow pace and _for the love of all that is good in the world, share your deep appreciation for malt liquor with the rest of the class and let us leave this mildew-infested basement._ Exasperated, Alex shifted in her seat and let out a soft sigh.

Sara cocked an eyebrow at Alex before slapping her palms on her thighs, as if she had resolved some unspoken dilemma. “Fine, doc. Hi everyone, my name is Sara Lance. I love women, alcohol, and men — in that order.”

Well, that certainly caught Alex’s attention. Was Sara Lance a drunk or a sex addict? As much as Alex wanted to study the blonde under the microscope like a newfound specimen, she refrained herself from any eye contact other than the occasional stolen glances. The whole point of attending group therapy was the protocol; all she had to do was fly under the radar and show up to six sessions. If she stayed undistracted, she would be done before Mr. Rip Hunter over there received his one week chip.

“Great,” Gideon asserted, sounding a bit weathered from the lack of honest responses from the room. “Good job, everyone. I appreciate your participation, and I hope to see all of your faces next week.”

One down, five more weeks to go. Alex quickly gathered her things — an empty paper cup and a pen (why did she bring a pen to group therapy?) — and began heading towards the door. She swore she caught sight of Sara following her, which only made her lengthen her stride even further. Nope, not feeling like engaging the class clown today.

“Hey, you’re gonna make me run or what?” Sara yelled from behind, and Alex could hear her jog towards her. _God damn it._ “Jesus, you walk fast for a redhead.”

Alex immediately whipped her head around to throw Sara an incredulous look. “What?”

“Ah, so she is capable of maintaining eye contact.” When Alex didn’t respond, Sara’s lips curled into a lopsided smile. “Look, I just wanted to give you my number.”

“Excuse me?”

Sara chuckled lowly. “For accountability purposes.”

“I don’t need you to keep me accountable for group. I’ll show up.”

“No, I need you to keep me accountable.” Before Alex could retort with an eyeroll and sarcastic remark, Sara put her hands up to stop her. “Look, you seem like the only one who has her head on her shoulders among our little group of Hallmark specials, and it also helps that you can differentiate between reality and an acid dream.”

“Sorry, don’t have my phone on me. Must’ve left it in my bag.”

There was a mischievous glint in Sara’s eyes, one that looked like she had anticipated for Alex to dismiss her request as nonchalantly as she did. Without another word, Sara grabbed onto Alex’s arm, pulled up the sleeve of her flannel, and scrawled her number with a Sharpie that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

“FYI, I prefer texts over calls.”

Giving a quick pat on the exposed arm, Sara slipped the pen into Alex’s front shirt pocket and fled the scene. There was a strong desire to run after the assailant and judo throw her to the ground, but it was probably an action frowned upon by her own therapist, Gideon, and law enforcement. Lieutenant Jones would definitely have supported it, though.

She buttoned up the cuffs of her shirt and started up her bike, eventually riding at a speed that Kara would not have condoned. Alex Danvers just let a complete stranger get away with vandalizing her arm — and by her own damn Sharpie.

* * *

The moment Alex stepped through Kara’s doorstep, a bag of potstickers and chowmein in tow, Winn brazenly challenged her to a game of Drunk Charades. Considering that Catco’s resident IT specialist was already halfway through the wine bottle and slurring with his words, Alex agreed to his proposition — but only after getting a healthy amount of scotch in her system. She was never one to turn down a competition, especially when it also promised the opportunity of seeing Winn try to mime out the entire plot of _Kill Bill_.

Kara’s eyes shone when she saw her potstickers, each one fried to golden perfection. She dipped the largest in soy sauce and consumed it whole, her cheeks puffing up like a happy squirrel stuffed with too many acorns. For a girl with her appetite, it was a wonder how she kept so trim.

“So, how was it?” Kara said, swallowing the lasts of the dumpling in her mouth as she prepared another one with her fingers. “Did you make any friends?”

“Nope,” Alex immediately responded with a light shrug. “Pretty uneventful.”

To be quite honest, group therapy _was_ monotonously uneventful, and Alex was definitely not looking to make friends with anyone in that too-close-for-comfort basement. Between Rip’s starving artist storyline and Charlie’s post-teenage rebellion phase, there weren’t many candidates she could envision having coffee with in a public setting, or at least one who she didn’t want to punch in the face. Ultimately, the whole reason behind group wasn’t to widen her circle of acquaintances, but to satisfy a protocol checkbox.

Lena came padding over with an empty wine glass, to which Alex instinctively grabbed and began pouring generous amounts of red wine into. It only seemed fair; the tech mogul was stressed half the time Alex saw her as she juggled managing L-Corp and Catco at the same time. Besides, it _was_ Friday.

Stealing a potsticker from Kara (with chopsticks of course, she wasn’t a barbarian), Lena raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s that on your arm?”

Curse Lena Luthor and her razor-sharp eyesight.

“I let a child draw on me today.”

From the knowing smirk and confused grimace on Lena and Kara’s faces respectively, it was safe to say that (a) Lena was letting her off the hook for tonight, (b) Kara was more oblivious than people gave her credit for, and (c) Alex needed a stiffer drink. Taking a long sip from her scotch, Alex made her way to the party of drunken Catco employees before Lena could prod her any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic in years, can you believe! I'm mostly writing an AU because I have yet to catch up on Supergirl (or Arrow or Flash) since Crisis on Earth-X, so I'm not sure what is going on plot-wise outside of Legends. Reading and writing about the very fleeting AgentCanary are essentially the only outlets for my Very Strong (br)OTP Feelings™. 
> 
> It's been 50 years since Crisis on Earth-X and everyone's moved on (or still into Sanvers), so hopefully this weirdly dark fic idea indulges at least one person.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://mandrieski.tumblr.com)!


	2. Unrecoverable

The first thing Alex did upon reaching home was clean the _goddamn_ graffiti on her arm with the strongest rubbing alcohol she could find. Unfortunately, her mathematical nerd-brain had already seared the numbers _206-555-0192_ (that didn’t look like an area code Alex recognized) into her memory, and her prefrontal cortex was reciting it like the lyrics of an overplayed pop song. Curiosity got the best of her when she pulled out her laptop and Googled the number, which a few sketchy websites informed her to be one from Seattle, or Starling City, specifically.

It was almost 3 AM and Alex was sitting in the dark, reverse-looking up the phone number of an incredibly arrogant woman she just met at group therapy. This was clearly a waste of time, and she knew she had to be up and at the hospital in another five hours. Before shutting off her computer and attempting to get some semblance of rest, a pang of paranoia advised her to wipe her Internet history. She did it without as much as a second thought — good riddance.

* * *

****“Danvers, you look like crap.”

“Well, good morning to you too, Shaw.”

Sameen Shaw was the only colleague from the hospital who Alex allowed to be promoted to her friend. A fellow marine and surgeon (not in pediatrics though, and this was probably for the best), they shared enough similarities and skeletons in the closet to make up a friendship, one that contrasted Alex’s relationship with her bumbling be-positive sister and her offbeat friends. In fact, Alex appreciated the healthy doses of cynicism Shaw brought to the table.

Shaw fished her pockets for a quarter and slid it to Alex, who gave her a grateful nod before slotting it into the coffee machine. It paused, as if taunting Alex, then proceeded to fill her mug with black coffee. _Very, very slowly._

“Looks like you had a wild night,” There wasn’t a smile on Shaw’s face, but the mock was practically oozing out of her voice.

“Could say the same for you.”

There was a reason why Shaw had decided to wear a turtleneck on a balmy Saturday in spring, and it didn’t take another word before the surgeon was loudly clearing her throat as she busied herself with her own coffee. Alex loved teasing Shaw about her love life — there was an odd pleasure to stupefying the usually calm-and-collected marine, and those moments were rare.

(Was this how Sara Lance felt all the time, drunk on power and smugness?)

Thankfully, the rest of the day moved pretty quickly and smoothly. After giving a five-year-old her annual influenza vaccination and an accompanying cherry lollipop, Alex clocked out for the day. She wasn’t as exhausted as she had initially expected, but she also wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending her evening in a cool-toned office as her therapist overanalyzed her thoughts and decisions.

It also didn’t help that her therapist’s name was Barney, which regrettably only caused Alex to picture a large purple dinosaur speaking to her about the symptoms of PTSD. He was kind though, always staying patient despite Alex’s tendency to dodge questions when it hit too close to home. Sometimes imagining a purple dinosaur for a therapist seemed like the only possible way for her to talk about her past.

Heading to Barney’s office was hard, but sitting in the waiting room was even harder. A part of Alex still thought therapy was dumb, or at least a waste of time — half the time she would answer questions with questions, and the other would be spent talking about how blue the walls in the office were becoming. But being a doctor, she had already read papers upon papers on therapy and its benefits for patients with PTSD, and she wasn't one to argue with science.

She could, however, argue with Barney about whether the walls were periwinkle or a very light shade of teal.

“Alex, good to see you today,” Barney flashed a wide grin at Alex as she entered the room. Suddenly, the walls looked navy to her. “How are you feeling?”

A light shrug systematically followed by a modest smile. “Good, just a little tired. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“I see. Are the dreams keeping you up?”

Alex almost laughed but thought otherwise. _More like a phone number._ “No, I think it was just residual nerves from group.”

That wasn’t a lie per se, but it also wasn’t the truth. It was certainly residual _something_ that had kept her from getting a restful night of sleep, and it was a result of an entity from group. Judging from Barney’s understanding nod, Alex couldn’t tell if her therapist actually bought her story or not. Was he simply agreeing with her for the sake of agreeing, or did he truly believe that group had made such an impact on her that it reduced her to a puddle of anxiety by the end of the night?

“It was your first group session, wasn’t it? How did you find it?”

Dull. Ineffective. A frustrating waste of time. “It was alright. Dr. Wrider’s great.”

“How’d you feel about being in a group setting?”

“Instead of here?” Alex asked, but when Barney watched her with silent expectancy, she knew he wanted an actual answer. “I dunno. A lot of them are addicted to drugs or alcohol. Or sex.”

The last comment wasn’t supposed to slip out, or at least Alex didn’t intend for it to be said aloud. For all she knew, Sara Lance could just be your average run-of-the-mill bisexual who liked drinking on her days off. She could be at group for a completely unrelated issue, like being an uncontrollable narcissist with an inflated ego and a God complex. Or maybe Sara really _was_ a sex addict with an equally as destructive dependency on alcohol, and she travelled all the way from Star City to escape her past…

“You seem distracted, Alex.”

Busted.

“Just trying to pick the right descriptive words without sounding like an asshole.”

A fleeting smirk emerged on Barney’s face, one that disappeared when he sat up in his chair and gave her an encouraging look. When Alex first consulted Barney, the therapist made a clear point that he didn’t take notes during sessions, something about a pen and notepad being distractions to both him and his patients. Sometimes, Alex liked his casual, conversational approach to therapy. This was not one of those times.

Alex sighed, “Group is… I dunno. Different, I guess? Some people were really open about their fuck-ups, like they were okay with being fucked up. And then there are the ones at the other end of the spectrum and they kind of just hang back and minimize their fuck-ups. This is all speculative, though.”

“And where do you think you stand on this ‘spectrum?’”

“Definitely a hard 6 on the Kinsey Scale. Okay, maybe a soft 5.”

She let out an uneasy laugh as she averted Barney’s gaze. Alex couldn’t help it — it was low hanging fruit, one that probably would have sent Winn keeling over in fits of hysterics. Despite the smile of amusement, she knew Barney wasn’t pleased with her response. A defense mechanism, he would say; the tendency of using humor to deflect and redirect attention away from the issue at hand.

The rest of the session was mostly made up of meaningless chatter about work, family, and curiously enough, the psychological effects of binge-watching on a developing brain. Alex knew Barney was simply humoring her for the time being, allowing her to take her time and talk about group at her own pace. He did that when she first came to him, just a week after moving back into her apartment in National City, and then again when she struggled to talk to him about questioning her sexuality.

Alex left the blue room with more thoughts than when she first came in. It bothered her that Barney had called her out for being distracted, and it felt all too much like a teacher chastising a wayward student for daydreaming. But Alex wasn’t daydreaming about Sara Lance — instead, she was hypothesizing on what exactly had made Sara into the person that she was today.

God, she’s like a parasite and Alex needed to take her mind off of this woman.

The journey from Barney's office to the bar had become muscle memory. Squeezing through the crowd, Alex found Shaw waiting for her in a corner booth, two empty beers pushed to the side of the table and another half-filled bottle in the surgeon’s hand. This was a medical professional people trusted enough to poke at their insides.

Work hard and play hard, right?

“Y’know, when I agreed to get a beer with you after work, I didn’t expect to wait.”

Alex rolled her eyes, settling into the seat across from Shaw as she studied the sparse menu. Beer it is. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“Who said I’m wearing any?”

“I hope you were when you were cutting open your patients' chest cavities this morning.”

Shaw shrugged indifferently, which made Alex wonder if her friend really went commando while operating on people. This set off a chain of events that involved Shaw arguing that it didn’t affect her abilities to extract tumors, which then moved on to Alex asserting that in reality, patients probably wouldn’t care since they’d be under anesthesia.

“Touche, Danvers.”

Triumphantly, Alex finished up the rest of her beer and completely forgot about Barney, Sara Lance, and 206-555-0192.

* * *

****All week long, Alex kept herself pretty busy. She made it a point to work long hours on weekdays and by nightfall, she would be so tired that she could fall asleep as soon as her body landed in bed. Kara didn’t like that she couldn’t see her older sister as often and Barney thought her attempt to distract herself from her problems was counterproductive, but Alex didn’t care. (Okay, she might have shown up at Kara’s with a bottle of chardonnay and Season 1 of Gilmore Girls as an apology.) Staying occupied meant she didn’t have to think about going to group on Friday.

But then it was Friday again and despite the dread brewing in herself, Alex got out of bed and went shopping with Lena.

Well, Lena shopped. Alex watched as the socialite laid down $15,000 for a gown like it was nothing.

Retail therapy with Lena Luthor was completely different from regular therapy with Barney. They were out looking for outfits for the annual L-Corp function, where businesses from neighboring cities came and tried to win Lena’s interest and investment in whatever new innovation they had in the works. It was charming to watch grown men in fancy suits fawn over the CEO because as Alex learned, Lena typically knew what she wanted.

The type of places Lena shopped at were ones with grandiose chandeliers, polished marble floors, personal stylists, and best of all: free champagne. As Alex nursed on a glass of bubbly, she watched as her friend stepped out in an off-shoulder maxi dress, one that fit so well Alex might just have to give a standing ovation.

“How’s this?”

“Fits like a glove.” Alex said, her head bobbing in approval. “A very nice, green, expensive glove.”

The biggest mystery of the modern day was why (and how) Lena was single. Sure, power to the independent woman and all that jazz, but Lena Luthor was a catch. After that short and rather awkward romantic stint with James, she’s been keeping her love life on the down-low, turning down eligible bachelors left and right. It was great for Alex and her friends, though, because with every pining man came a basket full of imported chocolates and very expensive liquor.

On the recommendation of the stylist, Lena tried on a floral tent dress. The look of horrific objection from Alex was enough to send her back into the fitting room — she had a great body, so why hide it under a smock?

“Have you thought about what you’re going to wear, Alex?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I have to work that day.”

Lena comically popped her head out of the room, eliciting a giggle from Alex. “No, don’t you even dare try to weasel your way out of this one.”

“I’m not weaseling or otter-ing out of anything.”

“Ha-ha, very funny, but I’m being serious. Kara's my plus-one, you can be my plus-two. It's my party after all.”

Stepping out in a floor-length gown, Lena motioned for Alex to help her zip the back up. Lena Luthor in red was quite a sight to drink in, one that Alex had to take a moment to stare. Yup, that’s the one — that’s the dress.

“Oh, mama,” Alex whistled as she fixed a small crease on the hem. “Say yes to the dress, Lena, or I’ll personally have to call the police and have you arrested.”

“On what charge?”

“Being dumb enough to say no.”

Four glasses of champagne and $8,000 later, Lena was still being relentless about Alex’s attendance at the event. _It would make Kara so happy_ , she sighed, _she told me she rarely gets to see you now._ Alex protested, mentioning that they saw each other just two nights ago, bonding over some wine and Gilmore Girls. _Okay, but when was the last time you and Kara hung out outside of her apartment walls?_ Uh…

God damn Luthor and her charm.

“Will there be an open bar?”

* * *

****Alex had been in a fantastic mood up till group therapy, and even so, she made the conscious decision not to let it ruin her day. Considering that she had been late for last week’s session, she made her way to the grimy basement of National City Community Church 15 minutes before group was scheduled to start. Alex poured herself a cup of stale coffee and claimed the seat closest to the exit door.

Fuck!

Pulling out her phone, she punched at it aggressively and sent a quick text to 206-555-1902. There, now Sara couldn’t accuse her of being unaccountable.

In retrospect, why had Alex panicked so severely for forgetting to text Sara? It was such a trivial matter that shouldn’t have sent her so far over the edge, and besides, the blonde-with-a-God-complex wasn’t her responsibility to deal with. (Nevertheless, her heart was still pounding wildly in her chest but she chalked it up to the god awful caffeine.)

It was two minutes till seven and Sara Lance was still nowhere to be found. _Hey, where are you???_ Was she drunk on a concoction of alcohol and lost somewhere on the streets of National City? Had she fucked someone a little too hard that all the blood rushed into her brain and she momentarily forgot about group? Where in the world was Sara Lance?

“Looks like we’re missing two people, but that’s okay.”

Just then, Sara rolled right in with the most complacent smirk Alex had ever seen. Jesus fucking Christ, this woman sure knew how to make a memorable entrance.

“Sorry doc, got caught up in traffic, among other things.”

“Glad to see you are here, Sara. Now we’re just missing Rip.” With a sigh, Gideon flashed a smile and put on the same peppy tone Alex remembered from last week. “Alright then, let’s get started.”

Without Rip Hunter and his incessant whining around, group was less intolerable. As Nate Heywood and Charlie Something went off about family expectations and distant parents, Alex caught Sara watching her with a glint in her eyes. It was disarming and made her uncomfortable, which only goaded the blonde to continue with even more intensity.

Alex looked away but could still feel Sara’s eyes on her; it also didn’t help at all that she was directly within her line of sight. Scooting a little to the left so that Gideon’s body just barely protected her from Sara’s thousand yard stare, Alex tried to pay attention to whoever was currently speaking. (Not sure who the gruff man was, but he liked beer and had an ankle monitor on him so he probably wasn’t here on his own volition.)

Other than Sara and her piercingly blue, unwaveringly steady, frighteningly vampiric eyes, group was a breeze. Alex barely got two words in before Charlie was clamoring for Gideon’s attention again and Gruff Man threatened to literally pick her up and throw her to the curbside if she didn’t shut up. And then she muttered something about “that’s what my mum did,” and then there was solemn silence, and then group was over.

Lots of heavy stuff to drink to tonight.

There was that opened week-old Jack Daniel’s on Alex’s kitchen top, but she also remembered that one of Lena’s boy-toys recently gifted her (and subsequently passed down to Alex) a bottle of spiced rum from the Caribbeans. Well, she had the rest of the flat Coke from Kara’s potluck, which Alex could use as a mixer…

“Hey Red, a penny for your thoughts?”

Sara Lance, donned in her complete smart-ass outfit and lopsided smile, matched Alex’s eyes with ease — but mostly because she was sitting on her bicycle. Not the choice of transportation Alex would have imagined Sara to travel in, but it certainly retained her image as a haughty college boy following unattainable girls around campus.

“Way to make a grand entrance today.”

The blonde circled around Alex on her bike, silently preying on her like she was considering what her next move was. It also reminded Alex of a documentary on mountain lions hunting zebras, and she vividly recalled watching a scene that the narrator described as “a predator playing with its food.”

“ _Someone_ didn’t text me.”

“I 100% did, so don’t you dare pin your tardiness and lack of responsibility on me.”

Sara cocked an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming and Alex was about ready to shove the clown off of her bike. If a large bus could come down the street right about now and whisk Alex away into a blissful coma, that would be great.

“What number did you text?”

“The one you wrote on _my body_ , 206-555-1902.”

The laughter that bubbled out of Sara was both infuriating and confusing. But then it occurred to Alex that _shit_ , she just made it seem like she knew Sara’s phone number by heart, and _god fucking damn it_ why did she say it with such shameless confidence? Please, god, if you’re listening, send a bus Alex’s way and end her misery.

“It’s 206-555- _0192_ , you knucklehead.”

Alexandra Danvers. Time of death: 8:14 PM. Cause of death: Asphyxiation as a result of self-sabotage and unrecoverable embarrassment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I couldn't help with the character insert but Shaw just felt _so right_. I'm usually a 1K-2K per chapter sort of gal, but writing this chapter was way too fun and the ball of chaos just kept tumbling. I am also aware of the fact that I've set the chapter limit to 6, which is *definitely* the understatement of the year. In other words, slowburn is my middle name.
> 
> Also, folks, thank you SO MUCH for the tremendous amount of support, or at least it's ginormous in size to me. I didn't anticipate the level of positive reception and I am so, so, so stoked to be writing again. Y'all making me ugly cry.
> 
> In case anyone didn't catch it, Braniac is Barney is Alex's therapist. Not sure if I captured his voice right since I've only seen like 2 episodes with him, but it seemed like the appropriate choice.


	3. Of Loneliness and Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update: Because of my deep love for adorable assassin Cassandra Cain, I changed my username from oldeyes to cassassin (Cass-assin, get it?) yesterday. And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Sara Lance had the decency to stop laughing by the second intersection they crossed. The parking garage might have been far, but it was situated in a much safer neighborhood and Alex was not going to take any chances with her pride and joy. The blonde rode alongside in silence, her feet pedalling awkwardly in order to match Alex’s walking pace. Deliberately slowing down, Alex watched with respite as Sara cycled ahead, only to loop around a fire hydrant and return by her side. When the third attempt (which included a sudden corner turn) failed and Sara still hovered over her like an annoying bumble bee around spring wildflowers, Alex accepted her fate.

She was wholly convinced that Sara was following her, but she didn’t have the gall to accuse her of it because what if they were heading in the same direction? One humiliation was enough for the night and Alex wasn’t about to provide any more ammunition for Sara to feel smug about.

They were at a stoplight about two blocks away from the garage (and Alex’s escape plan) when Sara spoke, ungracefully waddling her bike to the edge of the curb.

“Here.”

It was a phone with a screen cracked beyond repair. “I fix broken bones, not broken phones.”

“Okay, Dr. Seuss, I just wanted your number.”

There it was — Sara’s trademark smirk, and it had grown impossibly wider. How was it that even while unintentional, Alex had managed to dig herself deeper into the hole she was already in? It might as well have become a grave; she was certainly ready to be buried alive anyway.

With reluctant defeat and a heavy heart, Alex put her number in. She chucked the phone at Sara just as the light turned green, and she crossed the street hoping to gain some distance between them so she could hide the blush slowly creeping onto her cheeks. It was infuriating how easily Sara was able to get a rise out of Alex, and especially over something as trivial and harmless as being called Dr. Seuss. (Seriously, why did she feel so offended by that?)

Alex’s phone buzzed and stopped when she reached for it from her back pocket. Sara flashed a grin, one that was impish but also looked like it toed the line of relief. Oh, no, scratch that — it was a self-satisfied smile.

“Had to make sure you didn’t give me a fake number,” Sara chuckled. “And also, now you definitely have a way to contact me.”

She was going to hit her. Oh God, Alex was going to smack her so hard that she guaranteed all the complacency and superior complexity would fall out of her tiny body like a destroyed birthday piñata. Oh, she was going to _murder_ Sara Lance and her goddamn smirk.

Alex had been so angry that she didn’t recall arriving at the garage, let alone strapping on her helmet, climbing onto her Yamaha, and turning on the ignition. Sara hummed, looking rather impressed (jealous, almost) as she marvelled at the purring black beast. This was the perfect window to leave; Alex could have left Sara dumbfounded in an empty parking lot and gained the upper hand. Instead, a thought suddenly struck her.

“Did you just walk me to my ride?”

Sara shrugged. “It’s a sketchy neighborhood.”

* * *

Jolting awake, Alex sat up in bed and waited for her thumping heart to slow down. It had been a couple of days (10, to be exact) since her last nightmare, and she almost let herself forget just how real they felt. They usually started out with Alex running endlessly as the deafening sounds of gunfire surrounded her. She would eventually trip and collapse into the mud as soldiers marched around her, then over her, and once she noticed the IED lying right beside her face, it would be morning light and she wouldn’t even remember most of her dream.

But that wasn’t the worst one. The worst nightmare Alex ever had was when she would be laying in a bunk bed somewhere in the middle of a war-torn country, body completely frozen in terror that she couldn’t move or speak or scream or cry. She would lie there motionless and in silence, watching the ceiling fan spin as she waited for the darkness to inevitably devour her whole.

Therapy and medication had been helping her cope in the daytime, but giving Barney a play-by-play of how she escaped death countless times didn’t do much to ease her nightmare-inclined mind. Ironically, being back in National City made Alex feel like she was still at war.

The first two weeks of being back were hell, with Alex solitarily drinking most of the time. She was mindful about it, her type-A personality making sure that she had just enough to feel good but not enough to develop a problem. Learning the perfect ratio of black coffee to Baileys and making it look like a regular cup of cappuccino was a science in and of itself.

Alex turned over and peeked at her phone: 2:51 AM. It was too early to get up for work and too late to pop a melatonin pill. Sighing, she set her head back down on the pillow and started counting sheep.

She wished she had someone to cuddle up to. She wished there was another body pressed up against her, the warmth of a loved one engulfing her with a simple embrace. She wished two people could fill up this queen-sized bed every night instead of just her, alone. She wished she could kiss someone goodnight and kissed her good morning and kissed her senselessly before she had to go to work.

God, Alex felt so lonely.

Maggie used to be that someone, the one Alex pictured giving all of herself to. She was Alex’s first love and she could very well be her last. It wasn’t that Alex was unattractive (have you seen that ass of hers?) or not “girlfriend material,” whatever that meant. The reason why Maggie and Alex decided to split up was because Alex couldn’t give Maggie what she wanted — a picturesque relationship void of fear and self-doubt. Maggie didn’t need a broken person weighing her down; after a screaming argument about fighting for what or who or why you loved, Alex left.

Blinking away the tears, Alex thought about what it would feel like to have someone to come home to. She thought about making breakfast waffles while wearing someone else’s shirt and no pants in the kitchen. She thought about holding hands and buying flowers. She thought about getting stomach butterflies. She thought about loving life, loving someone else, and loving herself.

Eventually, Alex fell asleep.

* * *

Sometime during her chaotic work schedule, Alex asked Shaw if she wanted to be her plus one at the upcoming fancy L-Corp gala. Her colleague had laughed (more like guffawed) it off before choking on her burrito and realizing that _oh, you were being serious, Danvers._

The contact list on her phone was short enough that she either had friends who were already invited to the event as business associates or ones who liked eating burritos for breakfast. Since returning home, it was needless to say that Alex hadn’t been getting out much. Between work and only interacting with people within Kara’s circle, it was quickly becoming apparent that she needed more friends, or at least a longer list of contacts.

For a desperate second, Alex seriously considered finding someone from Upswipz but thought otherwise. The queer community in National City was already small enough as it was, and she didn’t need to be caught up in being someone’s best friend’s ex’s sister’s ex’s arm candy.

Well, there was _one_ person she could call on her contact list.

As quickly as that thought entered her brained, Alex evaporated it with sheer will. No way in hell was she going to bring someone from group to a public event, and even so, Sara Lance would be the last person in line to receive an invitation. Okay, maybe second to last — Rip Hunter would’ve been the worst gala date ever.

Because Alex wasn’t able to secure a plus one, she ultimately showed up as Lena’s plus two, or for the sake of specificity, her plus one’s plus one. She didn’t hate the circumstances, though. Watching Lena flit about while flippantly waving off attractive men was fun, but witnessing Kara nurse a stiff old fashioned (which Lena had passed off to her) was a different type of amusement. Every sip earned a grimace that Alex couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Come on, let’s get you a glass of wine.”

Kara gulped, “Please. Ugh, I can taste it when I exhale.”

The party was in full swing. As they made their way across the hall, they noticed James busily entertaining a homogenous group of old white men in suits, who Alex could only assume were the board of directors of some powerful conglomerate eager to utilize CatCo as a platform for offshore drilling propaganda. Kara sent him a weak apologetic smile, gave him a tight hug, and retreated back to her sister’s arm.

Thank god for the open bar or Alex (or James and Lena, for that matter) probably would not have survived all the small talk with the wealthiest 1%. Kara mentioned that even Oliver Queen from Queen Consolidated had shown up, but it was his younger sister, Thea Queen, who caught her attention. That girl had brass, and Alex liked it.

“Fancy seeing you here, Red.”

For a second, Alex thought she had imagined the voice. Unfortunately, that was not the case. On the other side of the bar was Sara Lance, dressed in a black vest and matching bowtie with her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She appeared much too well put-together that Alex didn’t recognize her and had to do a double take. Much to her chagrin, Sara’s look of surprise was quickly taken over by a suave smirk, one that Alex found all too familiar.

“Should’ve known a doctor would be at one of these uppity events.”

Without another thought (or a better comeback), Alex cleared her throat. She wished she had a drink in her hands to make herself feel less awkward, but then again that was the whole point of being at the bar. “You’re a bartender?”

“Occasionally.”

“Do you two know each other?” Kara asked, mostly at Sara. There was the hint of a slur at the end of her question and suddenly Alex regretted not taking away the old fashioned from her sister sooner. (Kara never could hold down her liquor, but she was more than capable in consuming a family-size box of mac and cheese.)

“Something like that,” Sara winked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I’m Sara.”

“Kara — her sister.”

Alex didn’t like the way Sara looked at Kara, how her gaze swept the journalist from her head to her toes with some kind of indecipherable curiosity. Did she really just check her sister out in front of her? Instinctively, Alex forced Kara aside and stepped in front of her, acting as the protective barricade between an all too oblivious blonde and a menace to society. Leaning over the counter, Alex flashed a cold smile at Sara.

“A glass of chardonnay and a scotch on the rocks, thanks.”

The occasionally-a-bartender scoffed and rolled her eyes, “This is an upscale L-Corp-funded business function, not some shotgun wedding in a Las Vegas chapel.”

There wasn’t the slightest bit of relevance nor sense in Sara’s reply, and Alex was definitely _not_ going to stick around to try to figure it out. She left the bartender be as she turned around to look at her sister, who was ostensibly tipsy and contently swaying to the music. Kara had different levels of drunkenness, and right now it was clear that she was wavering between Dance Machine and Smiling Village Idiot. One more drink might knock her out of the park and straight to Belligerent Drunk Kara.

(So long as they don’t get to Handsy Kara, Alex was completely fine with her sister having a good time tonight.)

When Alex turned her attention back to the bar, she caught Sara topping off two flutes with champagne before garnishing the rims with lemon twists. Of course Sara Lance didn’t follow instructions — if she was a waitress and Alex had ordered a medium-rare steak, the blonde would have brought out a bowl of minestrone from the store across the street. The first mistake was ordering a drink from Sara, and the second was allowing Kara to snatch it off of the counter without stopping her.

“They don’t look like chardonnay and scotch to me.” Alex stated matter-of-factly, glowering at Sara as she pried the flute out of Kara’s hands (but not before she’d taken a large gulp).

“From the standpoint of a certified bartender, chardonnay and scotch together is a travesty.”

Just as Alex was distracted, Kara swooped around her older sister and grabbed the other glass from the counter. “Alex, don’t knock her ‘til you’ve tried it.”

Great, now they were at the stage where Kara would unabashedly misuse idioms and phrases instead of speaking like a normal human being. Alex was unsure if Kara had said what her brain intended to say (knocking Sara Lance sounded like a sexual innuendo and Alex could feel her entire face getting warm), but she took a humble sip of the drink and _holy shit this tastes like expensive spiked lemonade and it’s dangerously good._

“French 75 — it’s named after a violent, quick-firing artillery weapon from the 1800s.” Sara crooned, the corners of her lips curling upwards as if she had let Alex in on a secret. “Seems fitting.”

Alex craved for another taste but didn’t want to give Sara the satisfaction of having done something right (mainly because she’d just be spoon-feeding into her monumental reserve of arrogance). Begrudgingly, she dragged herself away from the bar without another word, her drunk sister and French 75’s in tow.

Despite her detest for Sara Lance, Alex had to give her one thing — the blonde nuisance sure knew how to pour a cocktail. Alex never bothered with anything alcoholic that required more than two ingredients, a piece of canned fruit, and a tiny umbrella, because the smaller the number of elements, the lower the chance of the bartender fucking it up. It would take an idiot to mess up dumping whiskey into a cup of ice.

The next hour passed by without a hitch. Alex might have underestimated the amount of alcohol in the innocuous champagne flute, the buzz hitting as soon as she downed the lasts of the drink. Kara, on the other hand, tapped out halfway through (which meant half a flute more for Alex) and was having a drunken blast. When they finally met up with Lena — who found Catch Phrases Kara charmingly endearing — she was already visibly exhausted from having to fend off hounds of eager businessmen all night. She murmured that sometimes, she wished she had an excuse to dispel her work responsibilities.

Kara suddenly lit up, a childlike glee glowing in her eyes. “You know what they say, if they’re barking up the wrong tree, find a dog who’ll bark back and chase them off.”

She paused dramatically, placing both hands on Lena’s shoulders as she looked at her squarely in the eyes. “I’m your dog... dawg.”

If Alex was to recount everything Drunk Kara had said tonight to Sober Kara tomorrow, the latter would swear off alcohol in a heartbeat. Lena seemed to get a kick out of it, laughing at every word the CatCo journalist said and consequently encouraging Kara to keep going on whatever tangent she was on. It was a sweet friendship and Alex was glad that her sister had someone reliable to count on, but a small part of her would always feel bitter because it naggingly reminded her of her loneliness.

Jealousy was too strong of a word to describe what Alex felt. As she had explained to Barney once in therapy, Kara’s happiness meant the world to her because she was _good_. That was it. She was good and deserving of everything wonderful life could offer her, and Alex never wanted Kara to lose that sense of innocent hope. Sure, her blinding optimism was maddening sometimes and it would put them at odds, but Alex always apologized. She was the broken daughter — not Kara.

(This was the part where Barney would ask, “How do you think Kara would feel about this?”)

It would undoubtedly and irrevocably shatter her sister’s heart, which was why Alex would never talk to her about her feelings. It was also much easier to take a shot or two of vodka down at the local bar with Shaw, anyway.

(“Isn’t that lonely?”)

No shit, Sherlock, but Alex would rather catapult her body into the burning sun than hurt Kara in any way. Maybe someday, Alex will learn how to put herself first, but today was surely not the day — the girl could barely stand upright without needing to lean on her older sister. Judging by Kara’s drooping eyelids, it was obvious that all the dancing from before had tuckered her out. Yup, they’ve come full circle and hit Sleepy Kara.

“Hey Alex, isn’t that your friend Sara talking to Lena?”

First of all, _Kara_ , Sara Lance was no friend of Alex. In fact, they were so far from cordiality that even if an alien invasion had destroyed all of humanity and left them both as the sole surviving people on Earth, Alex still wouldn’t speak to her. And you know what Sara probably would have done? Smirk and quip that they were “finally alone.”

Secondly, of all the people in that large hall, why would Lena be wasting her time entertaining Sara Lance? Hold on, why was Lena grinning and giggling like a schoolgirl at everything Sara was saying? Why were the two women walking over to the dance floor? Why wasn’t Sara doing her goddamn job and tending to the bar that was halfway across the room?

Were Lena and Sara… flirting?

“They’re dancing!”

Kara exclaiming her very perceptive observation rudely interrupted Alex and her thoughts. Alex didn’t remember the last time she saw Lena unwind so quickly, much less at a work obligation. Dear god, she looked like she was having fun and actually _enjoying_ Sara’s company. (Also, where in God’s name did Sara get that blazer?)

“I’m Lena’s plus one, I should be the one dancing with her.”

In an instant, Belligerent Drunk Kara was awoken and she boogied her way towards Lena, leaving Alex behind to gawk helplessly. When BDK was out and about, there was no stopping her. Alex eventually shuffled towards the three dancing ladies, her moves stiff as she subtly (and very, very awkwardly) attempted to separate the blonde devil from her sister and friend.

Once they were out of earshot, Alex whipped Sara around and pointedly scowled at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Dancing?” Sara chortled, her hips still swaying to the beat of the music. “You’re a little robotic, but I bet I could help you with that.”

“Touch me and I’ll break one of your fingers.”

“That’s fine, I only need three in the bedroom.”

Alex took a deep breath, held it for exactly two seconds, then exhaled. _No matter how insufferable the person, murder is still wrong._ All the while as Alex worked on talking herself out of committing manslaughter and ruining her dress, Sara continued gyrating, as if oblivious to the fuming woman standing right in front of her.

_Murder is wrong. Murder is wrong. Murder is wrong… or is it?_

Biting back any caustic response she had (they were still in public after all), Alex pulled Sara to the bar. Her main intention was to remind the blonde where she belonged, that _yes, you’re a bartender and would you look at that, the bar needs some tending!_ On the other hand, she also wanted Sara to stop dancing and blatantly ignoring her. (It worked — Sara looked discernibly displeased for once.)

“What’s your damage, Red?”

“What’s yours?”

That came out a little more callously than both women had expected. Alex knew that Sara’s question wasn’t verbatim, that Sara wasn’t actually asking Alex what was it about her past that had fucked her up into this sad mess of a human. There was a newfound tenseness between them and Alex swallowed the guilt that was growing inside of her.

Sara’s mood shifted abruptly, a lopsided smile forming on her face. “Guess that’s the end of my break, then.”

Slipping behind the bar, Sara shimmied out of the blazer and nonchalantly tossed it at Alex, who could only groan as she floundered to catch it. The sudden mood change bothered Alex, but Sara’s smirk was enough to set off the hateful fires again.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I dunno, I took it from someone’s seat.”

Alex blinked. “You _stole_ it?”

“Huh. I guess I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I struggled to write this. I kept hating what I would come up with, write it anyway, inevitably erase it, then start again from the top. By the time I was finally happy with the way it turned out, it was three days later.
> 
> (Also, I absolutely ABHOR the way Supergirl writers broke Sanvers up. Like it was a good reason for two mature women to break up, but it was just... no. Instead, I'm taking a different route from the I-want-a-kid-but-she-didn't excuse SG did in ruining a perfectly beautiful couple.)
> 
> I'm still floored by everything this fic has received, from the kudos to the comments and then some. Thank you everyone who took the time to read my work, send a heart, or leave some kind words! Y'all are the bomb (too soon?) and I love writing for you. 💕
> 
> P.S. Noticed the bump in the total number of chapters? Yeah... it's going to be a long ride.


	4. A Lesson on Gratitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! Here's a new chapter to celebrate the end of work days and start of lounging around without pants on, doing nothing days.

“Alex? What’re you doing here?”

“For the fourth time, Kara, I’m taking care of your drunk and inevitably hungover butt.”

Since returning home, Kara had thrown up twice, once in the toilet and another in the waste paper bin Alex had thankfully put right beside her. Getting the younger Danvers to bed was a challenge — Alex not only had to wrestle her away from the front door (“Alex, we need to save all the puppies from the National City pound! They don’t have a home!”), there was also a point where Kara was so belligerently drunk that she kept trying to convince her older sister she was actually sober.

Kara moaned into the pillow, her slur intact. It was clear that she was still quite inebriated. “I gotta get to CatCo.”

“It’s three in the morning, doofus. We got back like two hours ago,” Alex chuckled as she pulled Kara back to bed and passed her a bottle of Gatorade. “Also, Lena gave you the day off.”

Kara took a quick sip of the drink and slid back under her covers, sighing contentedly as Alex proceeded to gently stroke her hair. It took a box of potstickers and spring rolls to tuck her sister into bed, and Alex wasn’t looking to go through the ordeal of ordering Chinese takeout with Drunk Kara a second time.

Within a couple of minutes, Kara’s breathing evened out and Alex was left with her thoughts again. She gingerly slinked out of bed and into the living room, where she turned on the television and muted its volume. Whenever Alex couldn’t sleep, she would mindlessly flip through channels (which were mostly infomercials of poorly designed knick-knacks at this hour) until her brain shut off and she woke up on the couch the following day.

It was oddly comforting to be in Kara’s apartment and not her own. Between her collection of gut-wrenching dog movies, the personal photographs scattered everywhere, and the for-aesthetic scented candles on the coffee table, it looked worlds apart from Alex’s space. She had a large bed, a working kitchen, and blackout curtains — it was a strictly functional living space without much (or any) embellishments like fuzzy fleece throws and New Orleans street art.

Perhaps the reason why Alex liked Kara’s home so much was precisely because it was a home, and not just a place where she slept or made canned soup over the stovetop.

Alex had stopped changing channels while lost in thought and found herself watching a low-budget documentary about bird-watching as a city-dweller. (It was self-explanatory as to why it’s on TV at three-something in the morning.) The host, a fair-haired boy-man who didn’t seem comfortable on camera, was walking around Central Park when he caught sight of a red-tailed hawk. He looked visibly excited and Alex chuckled; this wasn’t so much a documentary as it was a really sad comedy show.

But there was something strangely familiar about the host, and the longer Alex stared at his greek nose and freckled face, the more he reminded her of Sara Lance. He didn’t have the same egotistical mannerisms, what with the haughty smirk and cocked eyebrow, but suddenly he looked so much like Sara that Alex had to turn off the television.

She still felt guilty about how their last conversation went, particularly how she had attacked Sara with unwarranted accusation in her tone. Sara had a knack for making Alex so stupidly mad at times that she would forget basic civilities and see red for a flicker of a moment. As a doctor who needed to deal with spoilt kids and the holders of their trust funds, she had always been good with maintaining her composure even in worst case scenarios. So, how was Sara different from any arrogant little shit who wore dinosaur PJs to his Jurassic-themed bed but thought he knew better than a trained medical professional?

It was upsetting how much of Alex’s time the blonde menace was taking up. She would invade Alex’s thoughts like an uninvited guest who made herself way too comfortable, popping in and out at any time of the day as she pleased. As hard as Alex tried to push Sara out of her brain, she would only come creeping back within the next hour.

And here Alex was, sitting alone in the dark at 4 AM, thinking about Sara Lance.

In retrospect, there really wasn’t any good explanation as to why she hated Sara so passionately. Alex had come across many men in college who were just as insufferable as Sara, the ones usually seen driving around in convertibles making snide remarks at passing women. Her father used to tell her that when boys didn’t know how to convey “hey, I like you” into words, they would make fun of girls by calling them names and pulling on their pigtails. Good thing Alex was into women; she never liked putting her hair in pigtails, anyway.

(Once, an 8-year-old boy from school, Tommy Merlyn, tried to yank at her long hair during recess. She pushed his face into the dirt and sat on him until he surrendered in defeat. Tommy transferred to Starling City Elementary School the very next day.)

Was Sara trying to pull on Alex’s hypothetical pigtails?

Her guttural reaction to that thought was to laugh darkly. No, that couldn’t be it — Sara was practically pulling on everyone’s pigtails last night, including Kara and Lena’s. If anything, it almost looked like Sara was simply going around batting her eyelashes and biting her lower lip at every woman in National City for the fun of it, and honestly? That sounded like a pretty plausible hypothesis to Alex.

But then Sara would do unnecessary things like walk Alex to her bike at night and make her a French 75, and suddenly Alex would be at a loss for words. Identifying secret agendas had always been easy for her, but when it came to Sara, everything was fair game. The girl was so hot-and-cold that keeping up with her felt like a second job.

Alex discreetly crawled back into bed, careful not to wake the snoring Kara as she slipped under the covers. Her head was still swarming with thoughts and she was nowhere close to being sleepy, but it was past four in the morning and she needed to be up early to make Kara some hangover pancakes. Alex didn’t mind it at all, though, because she was the type of person who would go to the ends of the earth for the people she loved and cared about.

* * *

Kara had been freaking out over having to return to work and face Lena over the last two days. After Alex had given her a detailed account (Kara insisted) of what took place on the night of the gala, her younger sister felt so mortified that she took an extra day off for her “ungodly hangover.”

So while Alex was busy treating her young patients and giving allergy shots, her phone blew up with Kara’s textual panic at a rate of 10 messages per minute. Eventually, the buzzing became so unrelenting that a child thought Dr. Alex hid a secret drill in her desk and that was how allergy shots were given, so she turned the device off.

(Each of Kara’s texts were literally just descriptions of where Lena was at that point in time and what part of the office Kara could sequester at — all written in caps.)

Just as Alex ushered 6-year-old Summer Wilson out of her office with a band-aid on her arm, Shaw nonchalantly sauntered past her and hunkered down in the doctor’s seat. She propped her feet up on the desk, ignoring the daggers Alex shot at her while closing the door.

“Shaw, get your feet off my desk!”

“I will when you answer my texts.”

A woman of her word, Shaw refused to budge until Alex had replied to her text, which was an invitation to head to the bar after work. When Alex gave a verbal acceptance, her friend shook her head and pointed at the phone, all the while chewing on her gum as she flipped through a children’s book. Like with every other stubborn kid that came into her office, Alex gave in to Shaw’s demand with a sweet smile.

Well, she forewent the smile — a grown woman who was also one of the top surgeons at the hospital didn’t need politeness.

_After group. Meet at 8:20 pm._

Satisfied by her phone screen lighting up, Shaw smirked at Alex and swung her feet off of the tabletop. Without another word, she pushed herself out of the chair, grabbed the only blue raspberry lollipop of the bunch, and waltzed right out the door, looking extremely pleased with herself as she passed the amused pediatrician. Even as Alex invited in her next patient (who seemed quite interested in Shaw’s stolen candy) for his consultation, she couldn’t help but notice just how much Shaw reminded her of Sara.

Good god. Alex hoped that they never met in this lifetime or the next. She might be able to handle them both separately, but their smugness combined? Alex had no real chances of survival.

* * *

Tonight marked Alex’s third attendance at group therapy, which meant that she was halfway through her quota and only had three more weeks left. She worked out a formula to get through group without wanting to kill anyone, most notably a certain blonde bartender. They didn’t need to speak at all for Alex to feel vexed, because Sara’s eyes were always on her and that alone was enough to send her over the edge.

Alex decided not to text Sara that night, so when she arrived at the musty chapel basement and Sara was already there, they locked gaze for a brief moment before Alex claimed the seat right beside her. (Don’t mistake her intentions for friendliness — sitting right next to Sara made flagrant staring a difficult task.) Curiously enough, the blonde remained unfazed and looked blankly ahead at Gideon.

“I’m glad you’re back, Rip.” Cheerily, Gideon grinned at the hungover British man. He returned the gesture with a very tight and quick smile.

“The topic for today’s discussion is gratitude,” Gideon said, her tone unwaveringly kind and gentle. “What it means, and how we can feel and express it.”

The group did some kind of collective heavy sigh, one that surprised Alex. Was speaking about gratitude at group a dreadful experience? Everyone looked uncomfortable, some averting eye contact with Gideon in feeble attempts to avoid being the first speaker. (Well, everyone but Sara, since Alex couldn’t really tell from her peripheral view of the blonde.)

The room stayed silent for almost five minutes before Mick cleared his throat, declaring gruffly, “I’m thankful for Martha Stewart’s videos. Baking keeps me busy so I don’t drink as much.”

Alex wasn’t sure what astonished her more, the fact that parolee Mick liked to make apple strudels or that this was the first time she heard him say anything that wasn’t a threat. The only other person she noticed perking up at his response was John Constantine, another British drunk, who appeared just as shocked as Alex felt.

Everyone took their turns to meekly share with the group what they were grateful for. Nate spoke about his intense love for US history and how he, against his father’s wishes, got a degree in history and started a low-paying career as a podcaster who commentated on historical events and figures. (In summary, Nate thanked history museums for being his form of escapism.) Charlie expressed gratitude for her chosen family of friends she had been living with after being abandoned by her own. Rip mentioned the unconditional love of his wife and son, both of whom were the reasons he showed up today. John muttered “my boyfriend” and tapped out.

For Alex, it was simple — her sister, Kara. Kara had been the one who stuck with her through it all, from the PTSD episodes (group knew it as “night terrors”) to the social anxiety to the depression. She had come a long way since three years ago when she first landed on the tarmac at the National City Airport, and a large part of her recovery was because of her sister.

Sara had been awfully quiet all through the discussion and Alex thought it was strangely uncharacteristic of her. She was quick with her witty quips and nasty remarks whenever the opportunity came around, but since the session started she had just been sitting there, silently listening. There was a great deal Alex didn’t know about Sara, and her behavior tonight made Alex question her opinion of the blonde.

“I’m grateful for alcohol,”

When Sara spoke up, a playful smirk forming on her face, Alex had to hold back the dying urge to roll her eyes. That was such a _Sara_ thing to say, to downplay the solemn undertone of the current conversation with misplaced humor.

“My dad loved alcohol — consuming them, mixing them. He was the one who taught me how to make drinks.”

 _Loved_. Sara’s use of past tenses didn’t go unnoticed to Alex, who immediately turned her head to look at the girl. Her vulnerability surfaced so abruptly that all Alex could do was stare, much like how Sara had done at her in previous sessions. The hardiness in her eyes disappeared in an instant and Alex could tell the usual smug Sara was back.

How was she able to switch her emotions on and off so effortlessly? Alex didn’t have that talent, and sometimes she wished she did.

Gideon closed out the session with her own take on gratitude, stating that she was thankful to be alive and, after a beat, to be British. It garnered some comfortable chuckling from the group, a joke that helped ease the heavy tension in the air. As Alex watched people begin to file out of the basement, Sara slapped lightly at the side of her thigh, simpering.

“Texted the wrong number again?”

“I forgot,” Alex lied.

“Sure.”

'Sure' was such an unsettlingly vague answer, especially coming from Sara. Did she mean _sure, I know you’re lying,_ or _sure, I completely understand_? Pursing her lips and knitting her eyebrows, the expression on Sara's face didn't make the message any clearer. Alex had been so caught up in trying to decipher Sara’s affirmative one-worded response that she didn’t hear anything she just said.

“Huh?”

“Y'know, you’re a terrible listener,” Sara huffed, shaking her head but maintaining the smirk. “Lena was all ears the other night.”

A flash of red and she snapped back to reality, a sarcastic grin plastered on her face.

“You talk a lot.” Alex spat, getting up to leave. “I parked right next door, so you don’t have to follow me.”

That was yet another lie — Alex would never risk leaving her bike in an area where it was very likely to be keyed, stolen, or if someone ever felt so inclined, both. She exited the chapel and headed down the street, turning around to make sure that Sara hadn’t followed her. She didn’t, and Alex’s mild paranoia made her consider the likelihood of Sara Lance heeding an instruction. There wasn’t a blonde on a bicycle in sight, so she trudged forward towards the garage that was 13 blocks from the chapel.

* * *

A creature of habit, Alex found Shaw holding a pint of dark stout as she leaned over the bar counter, eyes glued to the television. It looked like women’s hockey upon closer inspection, and Alex wasn’t surprised at all that it would be of interest to Shaw — the sport was fast-paced, violent, and all the players were pretty damn attractive. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past her friend to be in some kind of underground Fight Club-esque hockey league.

As two women in leather jackets sitting at the bar, nobody (in other words, men) dared to strike up a conversation with them. All the better; Alex was tired of small talk (with men) and she couldn’t be bothered with people (i.e. men) who wanted to take her home after one drink they so graciously paid for. She sighed, took a mouthful of her beer, and attempted to watch the game.

When she looked up at the screen, Player 52 with the red jersey (not sure what team it was, but Alex thought she was so cute) slammed right into Player 10 of the rivaling yellow team, earning the disgruntled Red 52 a trip to the penalty box. Yellow 10 then flashed a bloody smirk at her while skating away, and Sara Lance forced herself back into Alex’s brain and oh my _fucking_ god.

“What an ass,” Alex groaned, unsure if she was actually referring to Yellow 10 or Sara Lance.

Shaw raised an eyebrow, “She got her face busted and she’s the ass?”

“She was totally asking for it.”

Was she, though? With Yellow on offensive and Red defensive, 10 was zooming across the rink, skillfully evading any players in red that got in her way. Seeing her team in distress, Red 52 (who was an unabashed center) swooped right back onto her turf and eliminated the predicament by smashing right into her, body to body. And Yellow 10, with her toothy grin and bloodstained chin, looked much too smug about Red 52 being dragged away. Suddenly, it clicked in Alex’s head — Yellow 10 had lured Red 52 away from her position to take her out, hook, line, and sinker.

Now that the Reds were down a player, the Yellows took every chance to shoot at the goal and eventually tipped the game in their favor during the third and final period. As the Yellows (and a worked-up Shaw) celebrated their victory, Alex saw Red 52 bump fists with Yellow 10, looking rather impressed as she wiped the blood off of her opponent’s cheek.

Yup, that’s gay. (Or was it sportsmanship?)

Shaw was beaming. Alex had never seen her friend-colleague so overjoyed, and it was honestly a little terrifying. The more time Alex spent hanging out with Shaw outside of work, the more intrigued she became about what exactly the ex-marine did other than open up bodies and drink copious amounts of alcohol.

“Hot blonde coming in at your six,” Shaw muttered, turning to face the bar. The last time she had called someone “hot blonde” turned out to be Kara, and since then, Alex stopped trusting Shaw’s judgment.

Rightfully so, too.

“Red,” _Oh no, please don't let it be her._ “So good to see you. Again.”

Alex swiftly whirled around to see the lopsided smirk she loved to hate. “Ah, the bane of my existence. Didn’t I tell you not to follow me?”

“Everyone from group is here to grab a bite,” Sara said, her eyes flickering to Shaw and back. “I tried to invite you, but then you stormed out of the basement like a little bitch.”

Shaw coughed and almost spat out her drink; Alex flashed a cool smile. “Had an obligation, anyway.”

“And _who_ exactly is your obligation?”

“Shaw,”

As if on cue, the surgeon leaned over and shook hands with Sara, all the while as Alex sat in the middle of her two worlds colliding whether she liked it or not. (It was in that very moment that Alex finally accepted that her life, indeed, was a joke.) It was revolting how Sara openly ogled Shaw in the middle of the semi-crowded bar, but what angered Alex most was how Shaw allowed it to happen with a glimmer in her eyes. One by one, all of her closest female friends were being entranced by Sara Lance and her magical eye-fucking abilities. As Sara and Shaw exchanged steamy pleasantries, Alex seriously considered lighting herself on fire.

“Hey Red, can I borrow your bike?”

Alex scowled. “No way in hell am I loaning you my bike.”

“Come on, don’t be such a sour puss.” Sara rested her chin on her palm, head tilting to the side as she pouted. Insufferable. “It’s a work emergency.”

“Take the bus.”

“There isn't any public transportation in that area.”

“Walk.”

“As much as I love a little cardio, 20 miles to and fro is a tad far.”

“Shaw has a bike-”

“Nope,” Shaw interjected, popping an olive into her mouth. “Got plans.”

Alex exhaled, “And what if I have plans too?”

“Red, you don’t have plans on a Saturday.” Sara sounded so sure of her quick assumption, and even if she had hit the nail on the head, Alex still loathed giving her a win. “Look, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to, but I’m kind of in a bind.”

Alex wanted to say no. She wanted to tell Sara that actually _,_ she _did_ have plans to hang out with Kara after her therapy session and that basically took up her entire day. She wanted to laugh and refuse to chauffeur the blonde around like an Uber driver when she could spend her Saturday laying in bed, eating ice-cream straight from the tub and watching Netflix.

She had already lied to Sara twice today, so why did she feel so uncomfortable with telling another?

“Attagirl!” The blonde exclaimed and hopped off of the barstool, a bright smile on her face. “Pick me up at 2 PM; Shaw will send you my address.”

Shaw?

With that, Sara and Shaw dipped out of the bar together, leaving Alex behind to sulk like a 6-year-old child abandoned at Disneyland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been an inside look on Alex's brain shenanigans, my love for women's ice hockey, and the start of a budding friendship. At the same time, it also serves as the first hint to where Sara and her A+ personality comes from.
> 
> You see my icon of Cassandra Cain hugging Stephanie Brown? That's me hugging all of you. Y'all have indulged me to no ends by reading my words and leaving the nicest comments, and as a returning author, the joy is indescribable. I'm starting to treat the end notes of every chapter as sappy Emmy speeches, so please stop me.
> 
> I'm grateful for all the support I've received since publishing this fic, the idea for which came to me in the middle of the night as I was brushing my teeth. Thank. You. So. Much. Writing has always helped take me out of my dark place, and I am so glad to be back.


	5. Revelations

Alex slept like a baby. For the first time in the entire week, she finally managed to squeeze in eight hours of uninterrupted, nightmare-free shuteye, and it was absolutely sublime. In fact, her brain must have been so exhausted that she didn’t even dream at all — the last thing she remembered was thinking that the AC was a little too warm, and then it was 7 AM and she was shirtless with one foot sticking out of the covers.

She liked maintaining the same routine every morning, and that meant early starts on her days off, too. Once out of bed, Alex would get the coffee machine started and prepare a bagel in the toaster at low heat. (She liked her bread soft and barely toasted, something Kara found disturbing and unnatural.) She would then take a quick, cold shower to shock her body awake and by the time she was done with freshly-plucked eyebrows, her breakfast was ready for consumption.

Most days, she would dump her coffee into a tumbler and manhandle her bagel to go. Since she didn’t have to be at the hospital today, she could enjoy her meal in the comforts of her home with no pants on. The day was turning out great so far.

As Alex buttered her bagel with one hand, she scrolled through her emails with the other and looked for any responsibilities that might threaten her Saturday. _Nope, nothing pressing that needs immediate attention._ Relieved, she closed her laptop and took a bite out of her bagel — just warm enough for it not to burn the roof of her mouth. ( _Ha_ , take that, Kara.)

The morning was going by slowly but pleasantly, and she could see signs of the city beginning to awaken. Zany Old Bianka was sweeping the floors of the quaint Hungarian bakery across the street, where Alex liked indulging in a few cream puffs as the shop owner chattered on about her middle-aged good-for-nothing nephews and asked why she didn’t bring Maggie around anymore.

Oh, right. That’s why Alex bought Whole Foods bagels now.

It had been a good year since they broke up and last saw each other, but the wound still felt fresh to Alex. She never really allowed herself to process the breakup healthily when it happened. Alex spent her days buried in books and nights taking extra courses, working herself to the point of exhaustion where she once thought Kara without glasses was a completely different person. (Thankfully, Kara thought it was a very funny joke.)

Maybe it was self-inflicted punishment; Alex certainly believed she deserved it after putting Maggie through the wringer. The years after returning to National City were scattered with short-fused arguments about unwanted small talks during dinner and overstepping boundaries that were once never there. Maggie was always patient with Alex, giving her the space and support and kindness that she never asked for but needed. It sucked, because for all the love Maggie seemed to pour into Alex’s empty void, she didn't feel like she could really return the favor. All she did was snap at Maggie for bringing Thai food to her apartment when she clearly said she wasn’t hungry.

On the year before Alex came home, she decided to surprise Maggie by flying back for Christmas. (It still amazed Alex how Kara didn’t spill the beans — not even a single one — about it. That girl couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.) It was Christmas Eve and they were at an upscale Italian restaurant where Alex awkwardly joked about the napkin cranes and moist towelettes as Maggie laughed endearingly. Then midway through the dessert course, Alex looked deeply into the eyes of the woman she adored and pulled out a red velvet box from her purse.

“Marry me.”

It still hurt thinking about their broken engagement, and it hurt even more thinking about what their lives could be like right now. Would they have moved to Gotham City, where Maggie was slated to become the new head of the Major Crimes Unit of GCPD? Would they have adopted a neglected pit bull mix from the shelter and named him Alfredo after discovering his love for pasta? Would they have breakfast together before work, or dinner at night after a long day? Would they be any happier than they were now?

Alex wondered if she had given up on the relationship too easily, even though she knew it would have been unfair to ask Maggie to wait. They were in completely different parts of their lives — Maggie had a promising career in criminal justice and Alex was trying to piece back together a notion of humanity that wasn’t tainted. Maggie wanted to stay, but Alex told her to go.

Sometime between wallowing over her could-be’s and what-if’s, Alex found herself in Barney’s office unloading all of her morning musings on him. She didn’t like talking about Maggie — especially to her therapist — but today she found herself spewing out deep-seated insecurities and draining out her brimming bottle of feelings. Once she was done (and felt conscious of her rambling), Alex laughed it off and sunk back into the couch, silent.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Treat your feelings like they aren’t as important as Maggie’s, or your sister’s.”

Barney’s question was so dumb and simple that it annoyed Alex, but at the same time, she didn’t have an answer for him. _Because,_ Barney, _they’re good people._

“But you served your country, didn’t you? And now you’re a doctor.”

Fact and fact.

“Do you think you’re a bad person?’

Alex stared blankly at Barney, as if baffled that he could even think to ask that. In actuality, she had never really considered if she was a bad person, but she certainly wasn’t _good_ , not in the sense that Maggie, or Kara, or any of her other friends were. All of them had this philosophy in their heads that the world needed saving, be it in the form of fighting crime or reporting the truth or establishing businesses that served the underrepresented. How could treating gunshot wounds and administering allergy shots compare to them?

“Since I’ve gotten to know you, Alex, I don’t think you’re a bad person. You don’t believe you’re a good person because you don’t see yourself in the same way that others see you — to your patients, you’re a wonderful doctor. To your country, a soldier. To Kara, a loving big sister. To Maggie, a romantic partner. To others, a thoughtful and protective friend.

There’s a lot of good in you — you just have to choose to see it.”

What was the appropriate response to everything Barney just said? Alex knew it was supposed to be revelatory, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe in it. The rational part of her brain recognized that she was an accomplished professional who helped people — that was why she went into medicine in the first place. The irrational part, however, never let her celebrate herself or her achievements.

After a long pause, Barney uncrossed his legs and looked pointedly at her. “Before you go, Alex, I want you to do something.”

“Is this homework?” Alex joshed, a tired smile forming.

“In a way. Do something for yourself everyday, no matter how significant or little.”

“For myself?”

“Just for yourself.”

* * *

It was 1:45 PM when Alex arrived at the rendezvous spot and Sara was nowhere in sight. Shaw had sent her the address just an hour ago (with no apology whatsoever), which led Alex to ponder if her friend was still around the area. She stopped herself from thinking about what Shaw and Sara had been getting up to since last night — another second of picturing them together irked Alex, especially in the bedroom. (Why? Because Sara Lance was insufferable and she already had two of Alex’s closest friends wrapped around her finger.) Sighing, she parked her bike in the loading zone of a high-rise apartment building, one with a fancy doorman standing guard at the front doors.

12 minutes passed and still no Sara, so Alex decided to prop herself at the lounging area in the lobby. (What kind of apartment building had a lounging area in its lobby with an automated espresso maker and a fully stocked fridge?) She would give the blonde five more minutes before sending an assertive text asking for her whereabouts and threatening to ditch, but for now, she would make herself comfortable with a cup of hot coffee in hand.

Alex couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it must cost to rent in a place like this. The only people so far to cross the polished marble floors were young socialites in fur coats (surefire sign of wealth if you’re sporting fur in spring) and harried businesswomen in suits. People who lived here basically fell in one of two subsets of Lena Luthor — the shopaholic and the workaholic.

How did Sara fit in here? She did seem like the type who would own multiple designer jackets, both fur and leather. Her haughty attitude certainly supported that argument. Then again, why would a rich socialite be working as a bartender at social events? Shouldn’t she be chugging glasses of wine and champagne at them instead? The more Alex considered her various hypotheses, the more she became convinced that Sara Lance was a myth. (To call her a legend would be giving her too much credit.)

A light tap on her shoulder dragged Alex straight back to reality.

“What’re you doing here?” Sara asked, nonchalantly grabbing Alex's coffee and taking a ginger sip.

“What do you mean? I was waiting for you.”

“I don’t live here.”

Alex narrowed her eyes at Sara, who only looked wholly amused at this point. All of her previous theories were immediately debunked since they were built upon the sole assumption that she lived here. “This was the address Shaw sent me.”

“Yeah, like I would give a complete stranger the address to my home.”

“Then where did you guys go last night?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?’

When Alex rolled her eyes at Sara’s smug smile, it was mostly out of habit and not of annoyance. Maybe getting her feelings out during therapy helped increase her tolerance for Sara, and thankfully so — she didn’t think she could survive a day with the elusive blonde, but so far it didn’t feel as painful as she had expected. (Granted, Sara hadn’t gotten Alex into any of her monkey business just yet.)

Sara tried to commandeer the bike by attempting to hop on first, but she was gravely mistaken if she thought Alex was going to let her be anything other than the passenger. Indignantly, she threw her hair back and slid on the helmet, bowing dramatically for Alex to climb onto their carriage.

“Are you a fast rider?”

Alex wasn’t sure if Sara had challenged her or if she was simply asking for the sake of her blood pressure. Either way, she knew how to ride her own damn bike. (For the record, Alex Danvers did like to ride fast.)

“Follow this road until the street signs change colors,” Sara said, tightening the straps on her backpack. “Then take a left and keep going until I give a signal.”

There was a grimace under Alex’s helmet, one that Sara couldn’t see. Those were odd instructions, especially coming from a girl who didn’t like following any that were given to her. Was this how she navigated the world?

They weren’t on a busy street, save for the few cars parked on the curbside, which meant that Alex could speed as much as her heart desired. A part of her was cognizant of the fact that she wasn’t alone, but if Sara was also a rider as she claimed, then she wouldn’t mind the speeding at all. (Universal fact: Most bikers liked to speed, or at least the ones who wore leather jackets and black boots.)

Alex started off at the speed limit — an abysmal 30 mph. She didn’t even last three minutes before accelerating slightly, the breeze blowing a little stronger on her neck. Another bump in her speed put them pass the limit at 40 and that elicited a giggle out of Sara, who seemed to be having the time of her life. Though a small smile managed to creep its way onto her face, Alex focused her eyes on the road and tried not to think about how tightly Sara’s thighs were squeezing onto her.

She couldn’t even remember when the last time someone else rode with her. Kara absolutely detested having helmet hair, and Maggie always preferred traveling in the safe comfort of her four-wheeled, four-doored Honda Civic. Shaw had her own speedy little bike and, being the competitive asshole that she was, loved going just a bit faster than Alex on the freeway. Lena and her designer dresses were self-explanatory.

In the brief period when Alex dated around post-breakup, most women she went out with never failed to ask for a ride back home and, during that very short journey, would use the opportunity to press their bodies against her back. (It was nice and she never complained.) Sara, on the contrary, leaned backwards and placed her hands on Alex’s hips instead of around her waist. Her behavior was bizarrely uncharacteristic and unanticipated, but Alex was grateful that the blonde didn’t decide to make things difficult for the two of them.

After riding for about 20 minutes, the street signs began to change in appearance, not so much in color but the amount of rust around its edges. They didn’t look as well-kept as the ones in the last 10 miles. These had either turned brown from water damage or were so worn out that Alex couldn’t even tell what they were supposed to indicate.

“Turn left!”

“Into the train tracks?”

“It’s abandoned,”

Alex swerved against her better judgment, riding on the gravel path next to the allegedly abandoned tracks. The pseudo-road was rough and bumpy, and while she should be fuming about the scratches her bike was undoubtedly getting, she was growing even more intrigued with what business Sara had in these parts of town. No public transportation, neglected road maintenance, and abandoned train tracks? This was a scene straight out of a horror movie.

“You’re not going to kill me out here, are you?”

Sara cackled, “Way too obvious.”

They rode in silence until they reached the next train station, where Sara signaled to turn into the streets by squeezing her thighs together. Was that a riding hazard that made Alex almost run them both into a telegraph pole? Yes. Did she secretly want Sara to do it again? Debatable.

Street signs were still orange with rust and the traffic lights changed for drivers that weren’t there. It didn’t matter, anyway — other than the one or two 24-hour corner stores scattered around, the place was practically deserted. Alex pulled into the alley a few blocks down from where Sara had pointed to. Once the engines were off, she removed her helmet and eyed the blonde with suspicion.

“Why are we here?” Alex asked, feeling a sudden sense of uneasiness in her stomach. It didn’t occur to her once to ask Sara where they were headed before, and the soldier in her was internally chastising herself for her carelessness.

Unfazed, Sara produced a plastic tarp from her bag and proceeded to throw it over the bike. This didn’t make Alex feel any better about the situation, and neither did the faint smell of wet dog food coming from her backpack.

“I told you — it’s a work thing.”

“Are you a drug mule?”

“All you’ve done today is ask questions, Red.” Sara huffed and walked away. Alex followed closely behind.

“You’re kidding, right? I literally drove your ass across town.”

“My _perky_ ass.”

Alex thought about placing the helmet back on Sara’s head while they walked; it seemed like it was the only way to shut her up. The ride to wherever the hell they were was nice and quiet, mostly because Alex couldn’t hear anything other than the roaring engine and blowing wind. If Sara had made her typical sly comments all throughout the entire trip, Alex paid no mind.

(She still couldn’t stop thinking about that deadly thigh squeeze, though.)

For the lack of better words, the building they entered looked like the architectural representation of a heroin addict in withdrawal. Its walls were covered in ugly patches and the fluorescent lighting casted shadows on the grimy tiled floors. The air smelled like death, vomit, and oddly enough, also pure sorrow. This was the perfect place for a drug exchange to occur and from the looks of it, everything here looked just as abandoned as those train tracks.

“Sara…” Alex warned, a dark dread washing over her. The claustrophobic white hallways reminded her of her time in Djibouti and she had to blink the image away.

“You can wait outside if you want.”

While Alex didn’t like being in this sickly building, she wasn’t feeling too inclined to leave Sara alone here, either. The blonde, on the other hand, appeared quite unbothered by everything around her as she ambled down the hall. What was with this woman and her incessant need to dive right into danger?

Sara stopped abruptly in front of a door and knocked rapidly. (After running right into her, Alex stepped back awkwardly and leaned back against the wall. She was still within arms reach and could sucker punch whatever criminal who was going to open the door.) There were sounds of feet shuffling on the other side, a dry chesty cough, and then the jingling of the safety latch chain.

“Jimmy boy! How are you?”

The old man flashed the brightest smile at Sara, one so wide that his eyes disappeared into the folds of his skin. Fixing his skewed glasses, he invited Sara (and her “little friend”) into his home for a cup of coffee and sugar cookies. James Gordon, he asserted, and at times his friends would call him Jim, but he allowed Sara to get away with calling him ‘Jimmy boy’ because it made him feel less like a decrepit eighty-something-year-old man.

“Decrepit my ass,” Sara snapped, her hands absentmindedly digging through her bag. “Jim used to be commissioner of the GCPD.”

Even as he prattled on about his time as a police officer in Gotham City, Alex was busy trying to make sense — any sense — of what was happening. A second ago, she was an inch away from collapsing onto the ground and having a full-fledged panic attack. She was also ready to sock decrepit old man James Gordon in the face.

And now they were having a conversation about falling crime rates in National City and the new trend of owning self-defense Tasers.

“Dinner and breakfast for tomorrow,” Sara instructed as she passed two wrapped sandwiches (ah, so it was the smell of bologna back then) with labeled stickers on them. “Try not to eat them all in one go.”

“Aye, Captain Lance.”

“See you around, Jimmy boy. You’re still supposed to teach me how to play chess.”

When Alex was a freshman in college, she stupidly decided to take Organic Chemistry I, a class designed for seniors, despite her advisor’s blatant admonitions. The only reason why she aced that class was by compiling a notebook filled with questions about the lab assignments and readings. The number of questions Alex had for Sara Lance far surpassed all the content in said notebook.

“Meals on Wheels? _That’s_ your work thing?”

“Yeah,” Sara frowned, knitting her brows together. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re just full of fucking surprises.”

When Sara turned to face Alex, there was a glint in her eyes that made her look like a young, unruly child. Who exactly was she? It was so much easier to identify how Alex felt about the blonde when she was being complacent and pimping herself around National City. She was just someone from Alex’s support group, the insufferable one with the God complex who was a bartender but could potentially also moonlight as a kleptomaniac.

As Sara walked away with a smug lopsided grin, Alex groaned.

“I didn’t mean it that way!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any allusion to war and military related stuff are purely fictional. I debated doing deep research and planting in whatever I found in there, but I didn't feel comfortable using current events for Alex's storyline. (Maybe it's my unfounded desire to protect fictional characters from the real world. It sucks out here.)
> 
> As always, I am deeply grateful for all the support this story has received.
> 
> Happy Random Acts of Kindness Day! I've also just learned that tomorrow will be National Drink Wine Day, so you know what I'll be doing.


	6. Revelations, pt. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even fucking know. I think I was high while writing this chunky boi. 
> 
> Enjoy!

After making 12 sandwich deliveries in the span of two hours, Alex felt inexplicably exhausted. Her feet hurt (these were definitely the wrong boots for the job), and having the same conversation about the old National City in different lavender-scented living rooms wore her out. Sara, on the other hand, still had pep in her steps as they finally exited out of the building, a sort of whimsical look lingering on her face.

The way that the greying geriatrics greeted Sara — with toothless grins and a sparkle in their eyes — made it evident that this wasn’t her first rodeo. She must have been doing this for a long time, or at least long enough to have made an impression on people who couldn’t even remember where they last placed their glasses. (From a sample size of 13, Alex noticed that they were usually found sitting on top of a yellow phonebook from decades ago, right next to a cup of cold tea.) These were lonely old individuals who didn’t have any family left, be it lost to death or busy work schedules, and they found some sort of solace in Sara’s mediocre bologna sandwiches.

It was nice. Cute, almost, but Alex would never admit that.

Sara took the initiative to remove the plastic tarp, her movement large and theatrical as she folded it back into her bag. It was only then that Alex truly saw the damage on her bike, the glossy black frame tarnished with dried mud stains and flurries of scratches. She felt her stomach drop; cleaning up the mess was going to be painful and expensive.

“Dinner’s on me,”

There was a sheepishness in Sara’s tone when she spoke, her gaze acknowledging the ugly additions to the once pristine vehicle. Logically, Alex should be feeling crossed at her weak attempt of apologizing. Going on this cross-town journey and riding on the train tracks were her ideas, which equivalently meant that the scrapes (god, she couldn’t even bear to look at them) were her fault. It was a simple cause and effect relationship, so why wasn’t she mad?

“I could eat.”

Sara offered to help navigate through the inner city streets instead of returning to the train tracks, but Alex said it was fine — the damage had already been done, and she would much rather there be a couple more scratches on her bike than have juvenile delinquents pointing a gun at her head.

They raced against the setting sun, Alex speeding with reckless abandon as she didn’t have any desire to stick around without the safety of daylight. The ride back felt quick, with Sara grasping on just a little tighter and closer than before. Considering how fast Alex was going, she might have flown off the bike like a rag doll if she hadn’t.

Before long, the street signs were free of rust and vibrantly blue. They hit the first functioning stoplight since returning from the land of the dead and barely living (Sara’s words, not Alex’s). As they waited for the light to turn green, a Jeep Wrangler rolled to a stop right beside them. Alex paid them no mind, especially not at the smell of weed and Axe spray wafting out of their car.

Jesus Christ, what hole did these college ankle-biters crawl out of?

Alex directed her gaze away from the Frat Mobile, her eyes rolling so far back that she could see the insides of her skull. Between the stench and obnoxiously loud Bob Marley knockoff tunes they were blaring on the stereo, she’s never wanted an icepick lobotomy more than now.

One of Sara’s hands left her waist just as she saw the flash of green. Without another thought, Alex throttled and shot right past the clown car of fraternity dickwads. Given the sudden zero to 100 (okay, maybe about 70 mph since there was barely any traffic), Sara had violently hitched forward in the process, wrapping her entire arm across Alex’s stomach as she leaned her body weight into the front rider.

“Shit, sorry.”

“No, keep going,” Sara cackled wildly, her free arm waving in the air. “I have all their weed!”

The rational thing to do would be to pull over, wait for the white Wrangler to eventually catch up, and return their plastic baggie of cannabis. Then again, rationality was always thrown out the window whenever she was within proximity of Sara Lance, so she rode even faster.

Easing into an empty parking spot, the two strut into the Big Belly Burger with an unspoken synchronized intention. (As it turned out, they were both starving and closing in on becoming hangry.) Sara leaned over the counter and stared right at the poor cashier, who scrambled to follow her order: four Big Belly Burgers, two of which needed extra cheese and olives; two fries seasoned with salt, pepper, and cajun (“Make it happen, Steven.”); and two root beer floats.

The woman meant serious business.

“A girl after my own heart,” Alex chuckled, feeling relieved that Sara had the same voracious appetite she had — and Kara too, for that matter.

“The way into a girl’s pants is through her stomach.”

“I think it’s supposed to be heart.”

“You get into a girl’s pants through her heart?”

“What? No.”

“It’s valid, though.”

Alex didn’t have a strong rebuttal, since she actually _did_ let Maggie into her pants after a night of romancing on their first Valentine’s together. (It was the full heart-stopping experience, all the way from the loose rose petals leading up the stairway to the candlelit dinner and very expensive French wine.) What could she say? She was weak, and Maggie was in a form-fitting black dress that showed off her curves in all the right ways.

And her dimples. Oh, her sickeningly sweet dimples.

Granted, Alex had never been one to like grand romantic gestures, but she went through the motions for Maggie. Being in love made you do stupid things like renting out an entire ballroom for a Valentine’s Day surprise, or proposing in the middle of an upscale Italian restaurant while still chewing on a torrone semifreddo.

Scooping a spoonful of ice-cream into her mouth, Sara pursed her lips and furrowed her brows as she considered Alex in silence. This exact look always surfaced whenever she had new ideas of ruining equilibriums by introducing chaos, so Alex braced herself.

“20 Questions,” Sara said, licking up the ketchup that had gotten onto her palms. “You’ve been suspiciously kind today and I didn’t answer any of your questions. So, here’s your chance.”

The opportunity to put Sara Lance under the microscope finally arrived and Alex would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited. She had a full reserve of questions for Sara that had been building since the day she vandalized her arm, and considering that she was only allowed 20 questions, she would pick them wisely.

“Do you really like olives that much?”

“No, I only wanted to give Steven a hard time.”

Just as she answered, Sara flipped the top bun over and swept the mountain of olives off with a single fry, then proceeded to load a handful more into her burger. It became a sopping nightmare of cheese, patty, pickles, fries, and grease — all of which she somehow managed to fit into her mouth in a single bite.

“Did you really steal the weed earlier?”

Sara grinned and whipped out a blunt from her pocket. “More where that came from.”

Alex Danvers, an accomplice in a petty larceny involving marijuana. It certainly sounded like something College Alex might have done, but Dr. Danvers who worked in pediatrics at the National City Hospital and had years of military training under her belt? Oh, how the tables had turned.

(You would be surprised at how accessible weed was in medical school. Alex used to smoke a joint after a long day, with it ending in her bed as she giggled to herself after watching hours of dog videos on YouTube. It also made for very interesting visits whenever Kara or her mom would come over; have you ever tried detoxing your apartment of any traces of weed in two hours?)

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Sara gorging on her messy monstrosity and Alex regrouping her disarray of thoughts. She had come to find that the blonde sitting across from her behaved with catlike tendencies — one wrong move could send her rounding her back and scampering away. The first time she witnessed that was at the L-Corp function, and the second at group. There was a fine line between inquisitive and intrusive when it came to Sara, and Alex had to toe it carefully.

“Why do you insist on calling me Red?”

“Honestly? I blanked on your name the first time around,” Sara paused, her lips curling into a playful smirk. “Girls also like it when I give them nicknames. Makes them feel special, I guess.”

Alex raised an eyebrow and exhaled. _Yep, still an ass._

“But then I saw the way it ticks you off _and_ gets your full attention, so really, it’s become a term of endearment.”

“What ticks me off is you prancing around eye-fucking all of my friends.”

Sara smiled in amusement, one that Alex was unsure if it was the product of her word choice or the fact that she was visibly getting riled up. Releasing the ketchup packet that she had been mindlessly toying with, she resorted to focusing all of her attention on the half-eaten burger in front of her as Sara watched with quiet interest and pursed lips.

“You know what? This parlor game is feeling a little one-sided, so let’s change up the rules. We each get to ask the other a question, but both of us have to answer it.”

“Deal,”

They shook on it with shoestring fries like true adults, dipping one of their own in the other’s melting ice-cream before popping it into their mouths. It occurred to Alex just how ridiculous this seemed; yesterday she was so filled with hate that she would have beaten Sara down with a hockey stick. Today, she’s putting her cajun-seasoned fry (which tasted heavenly, by the way) in her root beer float and having a civilized conversation in a public setting.

As much as Alex wanted to press Sara about her personal life, she didn’t intend on revealing any details on hers either, so they ended up asking trivial questions instead. (Was this Sara’s plan all along? What an evil mastermind.) They learned a lot of useless information about each other — Sara liked having fruity pebbles for breakfast, Alex preferred sesame bagels. Sara took her coffee with milk, Alex almost exclusively drank it black. Sara usually ate her ramen soggy, Alex thought she was bat-shit crazy. It was like watching the dullest tennis rally between two players who couldn’t care less about the game.

“Favorite liquor?” Alex asked, quite surprised that they hadn’t come to it yet. “If you say anything other than scotch, you’re medically diagnosed as insane.”

“I don’t drink, but scotch does bring in the most tips.”

Excuse me? This was a woman who had, on more than one occasion, declared her love for alcohol. This was a bartender who made one of the best drinks Alex had never had in her life. This was Sara fucking Lance — a smug asshole, a narcissistic flirt machine, an inglorious bastard — claiming that she didn’t drink.

Alex gave a short laugh, unconvinced. “You don’t drink? But you’re a bartender.”

“And what about it?”

“That’s like if I, a pediatrician, hated children.”

Sara appeared taken aback, a slight frown forming on her face as she nodded slowly. She had been holding Alex’s gaze all through the night, her blue eyes scanning with gleeful curiosity, but suddenly it seemed to have dropped in intensity. Alex tried to change the subject, fervently prattling on about the demon children she had encountered at the hospital, one of whom thought he was a shark and bit into her hand during his consultation. Sara’s eyes were still on her the whole time as she spoke — they just felt less present.

It occurred to Alex that it was the same look from the gala, the one that flitted across her countenance when she attacked her hostilely. Even as she talked about another 7-year-old patient (a girl who punched her so hard in the boob she almost cried), the feeling of guilt came flooding back into the pits of her stomach. She hated feeling like this, but most importantly, she hated being the one who put Sara in the internal hell she was currently in.

“My dad was an alcoholic,” She began, her voice soft with a slight quiver.

Alex blinked. Seeing Sara in such a vulnerable state made her uncomfortable; she was so used to the wide smirk and teasing one-liners. All she wanted to do now was throw up the sick feeling in her body and hear Sara call her Red with that stupid smile and wink like a punch-kick combo.

“You don’t have to, Sara.”

“My dad was an alcoholic.”

Sara repeated, this time looking right at Alex instead of beyond her. Her gaze felt so intentional that Alex wanted to turn away, but she didn’t. She matched it with the same intensity and hoped that it came across as loving support, something that Maggie and Kara and Lena and John and Winn had done in the past. (James mostly talked to her about whisky and motorcycles, which she was equally as grateful for.)

“He was getting better, though. Did the whole Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous thing, ran and became the deputy mayor of Star City. I thought he did the whole politics shebang as an excuse to put on a suit and impress the family. The prodigal father finally returns, clean and sober, y’know? But then he was serious and wanted to enact change, fix the world, be the light, do all the dumb shit people say they would after reaching some type of enlightenment. He used to be a cop, so I guess he already had the whole heroic knight-in-shining-armor thing going for him.

“It was nice for a little while. Then my sister got hit by a drunk driver while she was on her way home from law school, and he flipped his shit. Went back to his old ways like nothing else mattered, then died of liver failure a couple of years later. It was either that or bankruptcy, so.

“Yep. Sober because alcoholism runs in the family and it killed my sister. Indirectly.”

 _I’m sorry? That sucks? Damn, that sounds rough?_ Alex wasn’t exactly sure what the right thing to say was. On one hand, Sara had ended her account with such a flippant light shrug that dispelled the morbidity of… well, everything she had said in the last 10 minutes. On the other, her eyes looked so sad and tired and lonely, even as she resumed chomping on her cold fries like nothing was wrong.

She must have switched her emotions off sometime before speaking about her sister’s death. Even if there weren’t tears streaming down her face, it wasn’t difficult to deduce that they had been close. If Alex had lost Kara in the same sudden, tragic way, she would shut herself down, too — the good sister perished while the broken one survived.

Alex wanted to do something, say anything that would remotely convey that _hey, you might be an asshole but you’re not alone. I also hate your guts a little less now._ She tore open the ketchup packet that she had been playing with before and emptied out its contents on Sara’s tray like a sacrificial offering.

“How chivalrous,” Sara grinned, her blue eyes lightening up slightly.

The silence that fell between them felt comfortable. Alex thought she should give Sara the space to sort out her thoughts and resolve (or bottle up) whatever darkness the memories might have drudged up. She was almost done with her fries, which meant that her attention would again be redirected at Alex. A swift panic pulsed through her body.

What did Barney say about doing something for herself everyday?

“What’re you doing tomorrow? My sister and a couple of our friends are going to Noonan’s for trivia night. I mean, I’ll be there too, because why would I invite you out to hang with just my sister and our friends? That’d be weird.”

“That depends. Will Shaw be there?”

* * *

As it turned out, Shaw had her hands tied that Sunday night and couldn’t make it. She was scheduled to meet some underground blogger who wanted to interview her about the possibility and practicality of affordable cancer vaccines in treating tumors. Shaw said that she wrote under the pseudonym ‘Root’, which didn’t make her sound any more legitimate than her flashy 90’s-inspired website. She was still going to go anyway for the free meal.

(Also: “Trivia? That’s lame. Call me when there’s a bar fight — I hear nerds get crazy worked up over things like that.”)

Kara rejoiced at the news that there would be a fresh addition to their trivia team, Luthor’s Lackeys. (They used to be called Cat Grant’s Grand Catastrophes, but ever since Lena bought CatCo over, the name change only seemed fitting.) Between Kara’s mastery on Broadway tunes, Winn’s collection of vintage toys, James’ art history degree, Lena’s business and fashion prowess, and Alex’s boundless knowledge on all things Barenaked Ladies, they had all the bases covered.

“So, what’s Sara’s area of expertise?”

Alex wanted to say it consisted of cringeworthy pick-up lines and senseless flirting with girls, but she thought otherwise. Instead, she shrugged lightly at her sister as she nursed on her whisky, feigning ignorance at her question.

Lena perked up, “Didn’t you say she was a bartender? My money’s on alcohol.”

“Isn’t that Alex’s turf?”

All the back-and-forth about alcohol aptitude between Kara and Lena reminded her of discarded olives and spicy shoestring fries. Other than the quick text message containing the location and time of trivia night, Alex hadn’t spoken to Sara since she unpacked her life story in that empty Big Belly Burger. She thought about checking in earlier in the day, but she wasn’t sure if they were at that point in their relationship where cordiality was common ground. Wait — were they considered _friends_?

If so, then that would make her the second person Alex befriended without Kara being the middlewoman. (It wasn’t supposed to sound as sad as it did in her head, but unfortunately, it did.)

Nothing short of her expectations, Sara Lance waltzed in fashionably late, bee-lining towards the group with a mischievous glint in her eyes and puckered lips. _Oh no._ The blonde definitely had something planned up her sleeve and Alex, although curious to find out what exactly was brewing in that thick skull of hers, still dreaded whatever surprise was coming her way.

Well, the group’s way. It’d be vain to think Sara did all this just to bother her and only her.

“Red,” Sara said, enunciating ever so dramatically on the supposed term of endearment. “And friends, many of whom I’ve had the pleasure of making drinks for a few days ago.”

It suddenly occurred to Alex just how much she had seen Sara over the week. In fact, if she was to count scores, she had collectively spent more time with Sara than any of her other friends — even her sister. She quietly sipped on her whisky, hoping that some liquid courage in her system would help bury that revelation.

Kara proceeded to engulf the girl in a tight hug, her smile blindingly bright. It was certainly an odd way of greeting someone who made you one amazing drink at a work function; Sara seemed to appreciate the embrace, though.

“Sara! I’m so glad you made it. Come on, let’s go make you an official Luthor Lackey.”

“In my defense, I did not pay them to call themselves my lackeys. They willingly did it.”

“Would love to be the lackey of such a gorgeous mob boss,” Sara sighed heavily, her signature smirk betraying the feigned disappointment. “But I’ve got my own crew to run.”

And there it was, the ultimate twist of the night — Sara had gotten her own merry band of misfits together to compete in trivia. A lightning round of introductions got everyone up to speed: Jax, Zari, Charlie, Nate, Ray, and Mick. (The latter didn’t really come to compete in trivia. He was mostly promised cheap beer and free entertainment in the form of everyone making fools out of themselves, especially Nate and Ray.) Before Kara shunned away their competition, Alex shook her head at the newly appointed team captain.

“Should’ve known better than to pick a losing team, Captain.”

“Get ready for a nerd throwdown with Your Mom.”

“My god, _that’s_ your team’s name?”

* * *

Surprisingly, Your Mom did pretty well at trivia. Zari had turned out to be a computer geek metalhead, and Ray was their resident astrophysics knowledge bank. Even Mick contributed to a question regarding baking, and later on, grand larceny. (Alex learned that the perfect temperature to melt butter was between 82 and 97 degrees, and that Class B felonies involved larceny of items valued over $10,000 or when an explosive device or firearm was stolen.)

It was a valiant effort on their part, but Luthor’s Lackeys still had them beat at 138 points after being the only team to score the final question: ‘How often does the epidermis replace itself?’ Luckily, Alex had years of memorized textbook information stored in her brain. (Thanks, marijuana.)

When the winners were announced by the host, Mick threatened to set the place on fire and the thought to call Shaw over passed through Alex’s mind. She wondered if her friend would have stopped the arsonist or join in in the chaos, but something told her that it was probably a little bit of both.

“Neither of us won tonight.”

Alex glanced at Sara, her body wired from the whisky buzz and trivia adrenaline. “Yeah, but we beat you.”

“Not all of us have fancy doctor degrees like you and Shaw.”

“She’s sorry she couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Oh? I didn’t even realize that she wasn’t here.”

Raising a dubious eyebrow, Alex regarded the blonde with suspicion. “You said she was the only reason you would come to Noonan’s on a Sunday night and play a nerd game like trivia. Verbatim!”

Sara smiled. “Nah. Not the only reason.”


	7. In Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long-ish but late chapter. Everyone gets to punch me in the face!

Lena. It must be Lena.

While Shaw might have been Sara’s ultimate deciding factor in coming to Noonan’s for trivia on a Sunday night, it was surely National City’s ‘Most Desirable Bachelorette’ that convinced her to stay. What other reason might there be? The pricey but mediocre buffalo wings? The conflicting cafe-bar-restaurant ambience and music? The cute but painfully heterosexual bartender who kept making eyes at every upright woman in the place as he made martinis?

Alex didn’t exactly stick around to find out, especially since the blonde was too busy rapping with Lena and Kara like they were long-lost pals. Even as she was sitting at the bar with parolee and fellow group-mate Mick, both silently sipping on their beer but never formally acknowledging each other, she couldn’t stop peering over at the laughing trio. Nine times out of ten, Kara and Lena were giggling at something Sara said.

Definitely and without a doubt Lena Luthor.

That fact (along with her constantly oogling at Lena) shouldn’t have bothered Alex as much as it did, but the feeling of jealousy crept up on her as she watched from afar. Sara fell into step so easily with her friends that by the end of the night, she was teasing Winn with the air of an older sister and challenging James’ knowledge on blended whiskies. With everyone enraptured by her anecdotes about life as a bartender, Alex left and went home.

Noonan’s wasn’t far enough from her apartment to warrant hailing a taxi, so she resorted to walking the 15-minute journey. (Kara had offered to drop her off, but she was visibly reluctant to leave without first hearing the story of teenaged Sara and Oliver getting chased around by _multiple_ mall cops.)

It was a much needed moment of solitude. She had sobered up sometime during Your Mom’s game of Truth or Dare, which really turned out to be Dare or Double-Dare. Witnessing Sara’s group of intoxicated friends make one bad decision after another was wholly entertaining, but it also made Alex think about how they all got along so swimmingly. Other than their mutual inclination to humiliate and cause trouble, they were like the personification of a potpourri that was haphazardly put together, or a raging dumpster fire burning at the back of a Denny’s.

Half of Your Mom was made up of familiar faces from group, and it occurred to her just how often they hung out outside of therapy. Did Constantine and Hunter also join in on the fun, or were they also left uninvited to bar meetups and social gatherings like Alex herself? Regardless, group was an operational obligation and nothing more. It was supposed to be the easiest part of reintegration.

She knew that Sara and the other group members sometimes met up and grabbed dinner together. It was a trivial fact that didn’t affect Alex in completing her checkbox, so why did it suddenly make her feel utterly miserable?

It wasn’t that she felt resentful towards Sara for leaving her out of the dumpster fire crew. In retrospect, she was bitter because they were first-hand evidence of the effects of group therapy — progress. They weren’t wallowing in self-doubt and drinking scotch by their lonesome at three in the morning. They weren’t working themselves to the point of exhaustion because that was better than being alone with their thoughts. They weren’t treating therapy like it was a chore.

Three sessions in and they were making progress. Alex wasn’t.

She had always been miles ahead in every other aspect of her life. Graduated top of her classes in high school, college, the academy, and med school. Landed a well-paying job that she loved and paid off all of her loans before turning 30. Had a 10 Year Plan that, if she continued to follow through religiously, would permit her to retire by 2035 without ever needing to work again. In simpler terms, Alex Danvers seemed to have it all figured out.

Well, everything except recovery.

Recovery was anything but a race, and unlike a roundhouse kick, she couldn’t spend hours going at a punching bag until she reached perfection. Wanting to be better was one thing, but working towards it was another. It was clear that she hadn’t been trying as of late, or at least as hardly as she should be.

When Alex finally got home, she sent another apologetic text to Kara for bailing when everyone was having fun. It was a good thing she decided to leave, anyway — she had an early shift at the hospital tomorrow and her schedule was filled with back-to-back appointments. As she crawled into bed, she realized that she didn’t dread the next day at all.

She would put in the effort and she would work harder. For the first time in a long while, Alex made the conscious decision to be better and believed that she could.

* * *

Yet again, Alex somehow managed to forget and subsequently underestimate the sheer chaos of being a pediatric doctor at one of the largest hospitals in the city. The Monday blues might not have brought her down, but the pack of triplets that she had to simultaneously juggle during an afternoon appointment was enough to make her seriously consider a career change. (Maybe she should consider returning to research — at least clusters of cells on petri dishes didn’t hurl childish insults at her face.)

It was customary for Alex and Shaw to have a quick drink at the bar after a long day, but the surgeon was MIA and not answering any of her text messages. The desire to drink wasn’t particularly strong anyway, so she resolved to spending her evening wisely and bringing her bike to the shop for a good pampering.

(She couldn’t stand to see those skid marks on her Yamaha any longer. Every time she saw the ghastly scratches on the black frame, her heart broke just a little more.)

Alex couldn’t help but think about how spacious the bike was without another rider onboard. It made for a much more comfortable speeding experience, considering that she could easily lean into her turns and invest all of her attention onto incoming traffic as opposed to a pair of thighs.

God, it was a complete miracle that they didn’t find themselves in an accident that day. The image of a telegraph pole coming straight for her entered her brain; a wave of panic washed over her that she had to decelerate slightly to catch her breath. The driver right behind her didn’t seem to find it amusing, his hand punching at the horn like it was his calling in life.

If they hadn’t been on a busy highway, Alex might have gotten off of her bike and socked the man in the face. Instead, she chose to be the better person, switching lanes and allowing Mr. Toyota Corolla to take over. Needless to say, she knocked on the window and flicked him off when he drove right past her. _Enjoy the heavy traffic ahead, you piece of garbage._

Was Sara Lance and her take-no-shit attitude rubbing off on her?

While Alex surely didn’t take shit from anybody (she once struck a recruit in the academy for being too handsy during combat training), she had never really been one to lash out over something as trivial as road rage. Moreover, it was technically her fault for abruptly slowing down in the fast lane on a Californian highway.

Sara definitely would have slapped her upside down for thinking that. He was the one being a self-entitled asshole, acting like he owned the goddamn road, so why was she blaming herself?

Shaking the anger away, Alex veered towards the next exit and into the shop where her usual mechanic worked. Wally West, the brother of someone from Kara’s boundless circle of acquaintances, was the only person she trusted enough to handle her bike. The kid knew exactly what he was doing, but he also did promise Alex a lifetime of discounted rates after she caught him drag racing on the coastal streets years ago.

“Alex! What the hell did you do to her?”

She grinned sheepishly, “I know, I know. Save your lectures, I’m already heartbroken as it is.”

“Good thing you brought her to me,”

“No other hands I’d leave her in, Tailights.”

Wally narrowed his eyes at her, looking both embarrassed and peeved at the mention of his old racing alias. She liked to tease him about it, especially since her first encounter with him was someone filled with unfathomable amounts of angst and recklessness. It was short-lived, though. He cleaned up his act by the time Alex returned from her deploy, having enrolled in school and working part-time at a humble repair shop.

Every single time Wally came across a damage he hadn’t seen before, he would squelch and softly curse to himself. It was quite entertaining to watch him work, looking so absorbed as he assessed the scuffed up frame and worn out tires.

“Sorry Alex, but it looks like she’s gonna have to stay at the shop for a bit.”

Alex blinked, “It’s that bad?”

“Your recent joy ride roughened it up a little, but it’s also due time for some maintenance. When was the last time you had the oil changed?”

She actually wasn’t very sure about that, or when she last brought her bike to Wally to be serviced. Solo riding was her form of escapism, so she wasn’t shocked to hear that she needed new wheels. Between balancing her hectic work schedule, having some semblance of a social life, and attending weekly therapy sessions, she had been guilty of neglecting bike upkeep obligations.

God, being a single parent was tough.

“She should be ready by Thursday — I’ll text you.”

Sighing in defeat, Alex reluctantly left her bike behind and called for an Uber. Without a vehicle, she would have to hitch a ride with Kara to work everyday and potentially bribe Shaw with multiple pints of beer for rides home. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could depend on Kara and Shaw, but a part of her hated asking people for favors. As a kid, she would rather take the bus than have her mom or dad drop her off at school. (Kara, on the other hand, loved spending the extra minutes in the car with their parents. Suck-up.)

Maybe she should get a bicycle like Sara. That way, she could get her cardio in and didn’t need to burden anyone else except her quads. Was this how the blonde got her legs so toned and her butt that perky?

Alex lasted a measly hour before Sara barged right back into her brain and took over her thoughts. Her automobile plight had absolutely nothing to do with her, and yet here she was, sitting outside of a car shop and imagining what Sara would look like in a SoulCycle class. To be honest, she would probably only show up for the girls in tight yoga pants.

She was suddenly reminded of trivia night at Noonan’s, a small smile forming at the memory of Sara leading her chaotic mess of a team despite being clueless about the rules. _Not the only reason_. Leaving women speechless was a part of Sara’s modus operandi, something Alex came to realize a long time ago — the blonde liked having the upper hand in every situation, and she sure as hell liked to bother Alex with that smirk of hers.

“Alex?”

An old, beat-up Nissan Sentra screeched to a stop in front of her, the driver peering out the window. Alex stared in incredulity at the car and then the woman behind the wheel. What were the odds that I-dare-you-to-snort-vodka-up-your-nose Zari was her Uber?

(Very, very low odds — her life was a big fat cosmic joke at this point.)

“Fancy seeing you here,”

“I’m your Uber.”

“Right.”

Hopping into the old clunker, Alex unconsciously slammed the door behind her and swore she saw the entire vehicle shudder from the force. Was that masking tape holding the side mirror together? She shot an uneasy but apologetic look at Zari, suddenly feeling fearful for her life in this claustrophobic, rusting box. Maybe she could request for another Uber, and preferably a car that didn’t scream like a banshee every time it braked.

Other than the vehement grumbling of the engines, the two remained silent as an air of awkwardness drifted between them. They weren’t exactly friends, seeing as they just met last night. But Alex also challenged Zari to chase a shot of tequila with ketchup, and the girl didn’t even bat an eyelash before readily grabbing both the alcohol and condiment off the bar, one bottle in each hand.

Drunk Zari was a raging riot and social butterfly. Sober Zari seemed content to act like they were merely strangers.

“So, how long have you been driving with Uber?”

It was one of the most generic questions to ask a ride-sharing driver, but it got the ball rolling. It was also a great litmus test of whether they wanted to have a conversation about hay fever symptoms or if they would rather their passenger shut the hell up.

Zari sighed, “About four months.”

“Cool. You like it?”

“It’s alright.”

_Okay, guess she’s not much of a talker._ Alex straightened up in her seat and directed her attention outwards, a line of mom-and-pop shops blurring altogether as they sped past. (Everyone liked to speed in National City. Go figure.) For a metallic wreck that threatened to fall apart whenever it turned too hard, the car could seriously punch it.

Once reaching the highway, they were met by a string of red lights and heavy traffic. Frustrated, Zari hit the brakes with a little too much gusto and the car moaned in tired protest. Maybe this was karma for Alex’s brash attitude towards Mr. Toyota from before.

Or maybe it was some bored higher being who thought it’d be funny to mess around with her life.

“Guess you’re getting that conversation, huh?”

Her statement sounded strangely abrasive, as if implying that she would much prefer to sit in silence than make small talk. It’d be a lie to say that Alex didn’t feel offended by that, but then again, they really were barely acquaintances in the end. (Were they even considered friend of a friend’s? She still hadn’t figured out if Sara Lance was a friend or recurring annoyance yet.)

When her passenger didn’t respond, Zari squirmed in her seat and cleared her throat. “That was a joke.”

Alex was (unfortunately) fully aware of the fact that her awkwardness was inevitable when it came to pretty girls — seeing an attractive woman smile was enough to make her knees weak and heart wild, but at least she could still hold a conversation. Zari, however, seemed genuinely incapable of handling herself in social situations. Her white knuckles from gripping too tightly onto the steering wheel ultimately gave away her unfazed demeanor.

“Why not Lyft?”

“More people use Uber,” Zari said, inching the car forward before speaking again. “It’s easier to juggle between this and my other jobs since requests pop up everywhere.”

Alex hummed, “What else do you do?”

“Postmates and DoorDash. Sometimes I wait at events with Charlie and Sara.”

The mention of their mutual friend piqued Alex’s interest. Perhaps being stuck in a scrappy box wasn’t so bad after all; she could use this opportunity to gain a clearer picture of the blonde. She was also curious about Zari’s odd proclivity for food-related jobs (especially if it also involved spending more time in this busted Sentra), so it was really killing two birds with one stone.

“Damn, that sounds like a lot of work.”

Zari shrugged. “Trying to save up for grad school. Sara thinks my potential shouldn’t be wasted on bringing food to stoned teenagers at four in the morning.”

“Can’t say I disagree, you were pretty quick on your feet at trivia night. Y’know, before the whole tequila and ketchup debacle.”

They shared a short laugh, Zari unembarrassed by her drunken disorder and Alex glad that she was beginning to loosen up. It was true, she really did know her way around anything regarding technology and computing. She certainly gave Winn a run for his money during lightning round; he was so bitter about his loss and repeatedly blamed his intoxication for slowing down his thought process that night.

It was fascinating to hear that there was someone out there in this vast world who thought highly of Sara’s opinion. At the same time, it also surprised her that she was capable of giving any sound advice that made just as much sense as it did practicality wise. Anything that deviated from her typical insufferable complacency always seemed out of place to Alex, but suddenly she wondered if she had been getting the entire thing wrong all along. Could it be possible that Sara Lance was, in actuality, a nice person?

“Do you hang out with Sara a lot?”

“We live together,”

“Oh, like roommates?”

“No, like partners.”

Alex did a proverbial spit-take, her eyes going wide as she tried to stutter out an intelligible response. Her head was spinning with so many new questions, each one materializing as she struggled to compose herself. Had Sara been a married woman all this time while flirting with countless persons on multiple separate occasions? Also, was Zari okay with her wife (god, that sounded strange to even think) openly making eyes at everyone? Did she even know of her philanderer ways?

“Partners because we work together and see each other at almost every goddamn waking moment. I guess sleeping moments too, if you count the one time we got paid to test out a mattress.”

Oh.

Bewilderment subsided, Alex nodded slowly and feigned agreement. _Sure, using that term in front of a lesbian to describe your relationship sounds like a very good idea._ “People get paid to try out mattresses?”

“Oh yeah, we’ve done a lot of weird Craigslist and TaskRabbit shit together. Had to pay the rent somehow.”

When the traffic finally started to clear up, Zari softly thanked Allah before stepping on the pedal and driving at a sane speed. Alex left her to focus on maneuvering around the other cars and decided to silently gaze out the window, feeling slightly terrified as she calculated the probability of getting into a road-rage-induced mishap.

It seemed that no matter how much she managed to uncover, the enigmatic life of Sara Lance would forever remain a mystery. She was like a chameleon that bore multiple identities, and the way she shed one skin after the other kept Alex on her toes and confounded beyond belief. With her talent and skill set, she could easily get a well-paying bartending gig, so why was she resorting to completing sketchy online favors for a few bucks?

(Life was so much simpler three weeks ago. The hardest dilemma she had going for her was figuring out which spread she wanted on her bagel, cream cheese or tomato tapenade. She ended up getting both, and it was absolutely divine.)

“Are you interested in Sara?”

The bluntness of Zari’s tone stopped surprising Alex, but her question did. Of course not! She was merely curious about the blonde’s peculiar life, and besides, she was never one to fall for the rolling stone type. She liked women who could hold a conversation without feeling the need to make flirtatious gestures and crack sexual jokes every 30 seconds.

Thinking that she had a crush on a literal woman-child was ridiculous. Between scrawling on her arm with a permanent marker (without permission, no less) and hitting on all of her female friends, there was a never-ending list of reasons as to why she was _dis_ interested in her. It was laughable that Zari — or any conscious being on this godforsaken planet, for that matter — could believe that Alex Danvers, M.D., was attracted to Sara Lance.

“I’ll take your prolonged silence as a yes,” Zari deadpanned. “Anyway, here’s your stop.”

Instead of staying to argue, she crawled out of the car and nodded appreciatively at her driver. Alex watched as Zari drove off in her dodgy Nissan, clouds of exhaust trailing after her. That girl was throwing back shot glasses of tequila and ketchup just last night; she wouldn’t know anything about what or who Alex wanted.

Interested in Sara? Please. Perhaps in a parallel universe they would be each other’s one night stand or premeditated bad decision, but in this one, they were certainly nothing more than friends.

* * *

“Oh, this would look cute on you in black.”

“I don’t need the same top in another color, Lena.”

“But do you _want_ it?”

Roped into another session of retail therapy, Alex considered her very limited options: the easiest thing to do would be to simply purchase the top, but she also had no use for the same button-up shirt when she already had it in white. Lena was relentless when it came to shopping, especially when the matter involved dressing up her friends. Her persistence and thrill would grow tenfold as she chucked outfits at her overwhelmed victims.

She shook her head and placed the garment back in its rightful place on the rack, adamant that she wasn’t going to spend over $300 in a single day this time. Out of their circle, Alex was probably the only one who could say no to Lena. Kara would have caved and bought it in a heartbeat, and Winn took her fashion advice like they were words straight out of a god’s mouth. (A Luthor-approved wardrobe almost always guaranteed successful dates with very attractive women.)

Just as Lena was distracted by the business-wear section, Alex checked her phone. There weren’t any notifications, and it wasn’t like she was expecting a call or text from anyone, either. Shaw was back and busier than ever, and Kara was swamped working on a profile on Lena’s new right-hand woman at L-Corp, Samantha Arias.

Her finger hovered over the _Compose New Message_ button but she immediately shoved the device back into her pocket. Group sessions were on Fridays and since it was only Wednesday, it wouldn’t make much sense to send a text two days early. Still, she wondered what the blonde had been up to since she last saw her. (Was she out terrorizing Big Belly Burger employees again?)

“So, what’s bothering you?” Alex asked, intent on putting her own thoughts out of her mind.

Lena hid a grimace with a taut smile. “What would make you say that?”

“We’re out shopping and you have yet to buy a single thing.”

It was a fair observation. The tech mogul usually had two bags slung onto her arm by now, but today she spent more time dawdling outside of the dressing rooms than in them. It was clear that while she had been the one to call Alex out for a day of retail therapy, she had no intention of buying anything — and that was extremely bizarre for Lena.

Alex first met Lena during a FaceTime on Kara’s birthday eve. Unable to be home in time for the celebrations, she instructed the L-Corp CEO to ensure that her sister had a blast instead of moping about at home. She lived up to her expectations and then some — after a lively night of karaoke with their friends, Lena later spent the night allowing Kara to shamelessly educate her on the television brilliance of _The Bachelor_. Since then, the two established a friendship built upon mutual interest in Kara's happiness and hard liquor.

“Spill it,” Alex pointedly said, her brow raised as she turned away from the flannel section. _You have too many flannels, Danvers. Don’t you dare get another one._

Lena sighed, a look of dread and defeat coming over her. She appeared to be internally in conflict with herself, struggling to find words as she kept averting her gaze from Alex. Lena Luthor might have an innate flair for the dramatics, but she rarely (if ever) looked nervous. Was she about to confess to a murder? If so, Alex would be ready with a shovel in hand.

“I’m bi.”

Oh... Oh. _Oh._

Alex didn’t say anything; she drew Lena into her arms and gave her a tight squeeze. They stayed embracing between the aisles of lingerie and pajamas for a good while, neither wanting to pull away despite the staring. A newfound solidarity bloomed in their friendship and they weren’t going to let passing Nordstrom customers take that away from them.

“I thought you were gonna say you killed someone.”

Lena laughed, “Wrong Luthor. I would never implicate you in a murder.”

“Thank you for telling me,”

They ended the day getting drinks at Noonan’s, Alex with a new pair of leather pants and Lena looking more carefree than earlier in the afternoon. When a cute brunette hit on the latter at the bar, Alex glanced at her friend expectantly. Lena might have known that she was into women for a long time coming, but she was carrying herself a little differently tonight. Fresh out of the closet and already had better game than Alex — well done, Luthor.

The brunette left after a few words, leaving Alex to scowl at Lena. “You didn’t get her number?”

“Not exactly my type.”

“Then pray tell, what is your type?”

“Preferably able to make me laugh,” The CEO mused, taking a drink from her wine. “Oh, and blonde, according to my track record.”

Upon hearing Lena’s very generic description of her perfect match, Sara Lance came right into mind. Alex remembered the way they danced at the gala and bumped shoulders at trivia night, with Lena all smiles on both occasions and completely enchanted by Sara’s silver tongue. Lena was obviously the reason why she chose to stay — all the pieces fit. It made a lot of sense.

It was also incredibly weird to picture them together, but Alex wouldn’t judge. They were grown adults and could do whatever the hell they wanted to.

She sighed, “Like Sara, then?”

“Yes,” Lena said, a little too quickly. “Like Sara.”

Emptying out her wine, Lena excused herself from the conversation and hurriedly zipped towards the bar. Everyone had their specific types, just like she had her own, so Alex wasn’t going to press her on Sara or _why_ Sara. Laying down all the objective facts, it was a given as to why Lena and every other one of her female friends would be interested in her.

Sara was an attractive blonde with a greek nose and freckled face. She always had a witty remark in her back pocket waiting to be used, and she loved making women laugh. She talked big but, in reality, cared deeply about her friends, spending the majority of her time hanging out with them at bars or trivia nights or group. She made insufferable comments a lot of the times but in the brief moments of vulnerability that Alex somehow managed to catch, she was beautiful. She was funny, she was thoughtful, she was kind, she was tender, and she was sweet.

Oh, fuck.


	8. Lavenders and Sundrops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7k chapter to make up for the lateness. I try to plead my case in the end notes.

For someone going through a full-fledged existential crisis, Alex sure knew how to keep up with appearances. (After spending years hiding in the closet, you’d be a master at fooling everyone around you too.) In retrospect, sick children weren’t exactly the most observant types — they didn’t care much for anything else other than the stash of candy hidden in the third drawer of her desk.

She hated feeling like this. She felt distracted in the morning and sleepless at night, her brain refusing to let her live her damn life without constant reminders of the Sara Lance Problem. She gave herself a day to process the thoughts, hoping that somehow her brain could talk her heart out of feeling inconvenient things, but she quickly realized that it was impossible. For some incredibly peculiar reason, she _liked_ her.

Would it be so bad, though?

Logically, it would be a Shakespearean tragicomedy. Not only were they group therapy buddies, Alex Danvers and Sara Lance travelled in completely different worlds. She didn’t seem like the type to settle down, either. Between her womanizer ways and inability to hold down a regular job, Sara’s life was constantly in flux, and that was something Alex wanted to avoid.

And then there was Lena, newly out of the closet and already head over heels for Sara. Shaw too, for that matter. There were so many reasons as to why her stomach shouldn’t be fluttering the way it did when she thought of the blonde. She shouldn’t be thinking about the possibilities of Big Belly Burger dates, Meals on Wheels escapades, and certainly not sitting on her lap during game nights when everyone (including herself) had drunken themselves into oblivion.

It didn’t make any goddamn sense and she absolutely hated that.

The first thing Alex did when she woke up on Friday was send a text to Sara about group — something purely objective and free of any hidden agenda. Out of the last four weeks, this might very well be the only time she genuinely and consciously hoped for a reply back. It was so dumb, but she kept her phone close to her and waited anyway.

With her trusty Yamaha back in action and looking shinier than ever, she sped her way to work as the sun began to rise. Once she got to her office, she checked her phone again: no new notifications. Sighing, she left the phone on her desk to refrain from wanting to peek at it every five seconds.

Coffee. Yes, that would help keep her mind off of the silence.

She stepped into the break room, her hands busily fumbling in her pockets for any loose change that she didn’t even notice Shaw slip past from behind her. Helpful as always, she produced a quarter and slotted it into the machine without warning.

“Deja vu,” Shaw muttered.

Alex raised an eyebrow at the surgeon’s black turtleneck, “Indeed. Wild night?”

Shaw only nodded in response; she could have easily teased her about the small smile on her face but thought otherwise. Other than the possibility of getting punched right in the guts by a trained ex-marine, Alex didn’t want to take this away from Shaw. It was rare to see her friend openly expressing her happiness — especially while 100% sober.

(She was still suspicious of this lady who conveniently materialized out of nowhere and only referred to herself by a mononym. Shaw took a liking to her though, or at least enough to travel back-and-forth between National City and Gotham just to see her. That would be a lot of effort for a booty call.)

A long sip of coffee grounded Alex back in reality. Maybe it was the mediocre hospital caffeine or the early morning daze, but she made the quick decision to indulge her curiosity that had been gnawing at her for days.

“After you left the bar with Sara,” Alex paused, glancing into her half-filled cup. “What did you guys do?”

There was a knowing glint to the way Shaw considered her, one that suddenly made her regret ever asking that question. The answer was going to affirm that her feelings for Sara Lance were real and she wasn’t quite sure if she was ready for that level of certainty yet.

“She tried to have sex with me,”

“Oh. Wait — tried?”

“Yeah, then I told her I’d let her ride my bike without the fucking. Too much of a hassle and my place was pretty far, anyway. We ended up at that place where all the dumb kids go to drag race.”

Alex narrowed her eyes in confusion, “A fuck for a joyride?”

Shaw shrugged. “Sara is a simple girl, Danvers. Don’t overthink it.”

* * *

After spending a good portion of the afternoon mulling over what the thumbs-up and knife emojis meant, Alex could only assume that it was Sara’s way of stating that she would see her at group. She replied with a water gun emoji and hit send before the _wait, fuck, no no no unsend unsend_ set in in her chest.

The sight of an empty basement except for Nate and his sugar doughnut almost sent Alex climbing back up the steps and out of the church. She didn’t dislike him, but she also didn’t feel like they had very much in common, if at all. He was like a college student stuck in the body of a 30-something year old man, too nice to be in a fraternity but too caveman-broski to make smart decisions when it came to dilemmas.

When he beamed at Alex, she entered the room and sealed her fate.

“Alex who likes craft beer, right?”

She nodded, “Nate who took his clothes off to ‘Hurt’ by Johnny Cash on a bar counter?”

“The one and only. I was good, right?”

“Coming from a lesbian: B-minus.”

For a straight-laced boy scout who knew way too much about astrophysics to be a simple hobbyist, Ray came up with some of the best dares of the night. From the Johnny Cash striptease to the clothing switch-a-roo, he kept her entertained and distracted before her eventual departure from Noonan’s.

Alex wasn’t sure why she felt so apprehensive about making small talk with Nate before. He was one of those guys who you could strike a conversation with for hours, only remembering that he was a complete stranger also in line for coffee at a busy Starbucks. Daddy issues and childish angst aside, Nate was a kind man.

(Somehow, they came up with an impromptu deal that Alex would be his wing-woman so long as he agreed to play her straight boyfriend at extended family events. He claimed he had prior experience.)

“Hey, we’re actually throwing an early graduation party for Jax on Wednesday.” Nate said nonchalantly, traces of powdered sugar still lingering on his lips. “You should come, since Sara already invited Lena and your sister too, I think.”

Why did hearing that make her heart drop straight to the cold, unpolished floors? It’d be juvenile to feel jealous over the fact that her good friend and sister were asked before herself; she was a grown adult who didn’t have any time for petty resentment.

Okay, maybe a tiny bit.

The sounds of footsteps and muffled talking interrupted their conversation, and thankfully so — if she had said no then Nate would have asked why, then she’d find herself snowballing in a web of lies about fake weekend plans when she only wanted to spite Sara.

Much to her surprise, Mick sat in the open seat right next to her and grunted as a greeting. (Guess her plan to sit beside Sara was busted.) She flashed a small smile, glad that they were becoming acquainted but wondered when their acquaintanceship actually began. Was drinking in silence — save for the occasional chuckle at the chaotic game of Dare or Double-Dare — his way of bonding?

“Alright everyone, let’s get started.”

Everyone? She scanned the circle once, twice, and sure enough, Sara Lance was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t likely that Gideon didn’t notice her absence (she’s incredibly sharp and never missed a beat in the last sessions), which prompted Alex to believe that she already knew Sara wouldn’t be joining them tonight.

So much for the thumbs-up-knife response earlier.

Whatever. Sara’s truancy shouldn’t change her plans for tonight — she was going to put in the work in group regardless of whether the blonde was there to raise her brows and smirk as she spoke. She wanted to feel better, to _be_ better, and Sara had no place in that equation.

(But at the same time, what new fiasco had she gotten herself caught up in? Did her job in keeping her accountable for group extend to include ensuring that she wasn’t making any foolish, rash decisions that could get her arrested or dead? From the brief glimpses into Sara’s lifestyle last week, near-death experiences were pretty common and the probability of finding her body in a dumpster tomorrow morning was laughably high.)

Alex couldn’t keep her focus on the discussions. As much as she wanted to actively participate and seek the spiritual kumbaya experience in this stuffy basement, her head wasn’t there with the rest of the group.

And the funny thing was? The topic of the day was on staying present.

“Spending time with friends is one way of staying present,” Gideon said, smiling appreciatively at Charlie’s refreshing lack of angst and cynicism today.

When Alex spoke, her voice was so low and quiet that she didn’t believe anyone could hear her. Even as the dreadful feeling in her stomach told her to stop talking, she cleared her throat and continued on in defiance.

“When I was deployed as a soldier, I didn’t want to live in the present. It was really hard to, so I looked to the future. I started keeping a list of things I wanted to do once I returned, like ‘I will have dinner with my sister every Wednesday,’ or something as simple as ‘I will get mint chocolate-chip ice-cream and visit the beach.’ I guess in a way it helped me cope with my present then.”

“Maybe you can switch ‘I will’ to ‘I am’ or ‘I did,’” Nate offered.

Gideon bobbed her head. “Sounds like you kept a journal. Writing down what you did and how you felt gives you the opportunity to process any underlying thoughts or emotions. It’s a really great way to reflect on your day, helping you make sense of situations and put them in perspective. Thank you for sharing, Alex.”

Her body felt like it was on fire. Should she hurdle over John Constantine and make a run for the door? Probably not, but her adrenaline was pumping and she desperately wanted to be anywhere other than being sandwiched between an acquainted Martha Stewart fanatic and the man who body-rolled to a Johnny Cash song.

After another round of heartfelt sharing in the circle, Gideon disbanded the group for the night. Despite the urge to avoid social interactions, Alex gathered herself and jogged to catch up with Charlie.

“Hey, you’re close with Sara, right?”

She regarded her cautiously, “Eh. Why?”

“Any idea where she was today?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“Just a concerned friend.”

“ _Friend_ , right.” Charlie shook her head lightly and hummed, as if contemplating about what to do. “She’s at Roulette. I think she’s supposed to be closing.”

Sara worked at Roulette? Of all the times that Alex had hit up the place, she never once saw her behind the bar pouring tequila shots for drunk patrons. She was sure of it — she’d been there enough times to realize that none of the bartenders knew what they were doing. Sara would rather have a car run over her body than be caught serving mediocre drinks to her customers.

(Then again, this was a Vegas-inspired drinking hole that nobody in National City asked for but someone built it anyway. Alex didn’t have high expectations when she first came, especially considering that their signature cocktail was an overpoured whisky ginger. The following trips were mostly because the place was close to her apartment and it made for some fun alternatives when game nights got boring.)

Smiling gratefully at Charlie, she took her leave and headed straight for the garage. It occurred to her that she could text Sara for an update and go home to her bed instead, but she was curious to see how much Roulette had changed since she was last there. Maybe the new management finally caved to fixing the broken sinks in the women’s bathroom.

The motive of visiting Roulette had nothing to do with Sara — she’d go and have a drink after a long day of work and group. Seeing her there would be a convenient bonus.

Leaving her bike back home, Alex hiked up three streets before seeing the familiar red sign board, but that was all that she recognized. The blacked out windows were new, along with the beefy bouncer hovering before the front doors. Since when was security (of _Fight Club_ calibre) required at a Vegas knockoff?

She waved at the guard and quickly stepped inside, suddenly feeling like a stupid college student again.

 _Holy fucking shit._ Definitely new management.

Alex felt like she had somehow went down the rabbit hole. Why the _fuck_ didn’t Charlie tell her that Roulette was now a swanky speakeasy that she was unquestionably underdressed for? The torn up leather booths were traded in for classy red velvet seats, and the awful oil paintings of Vegas show girls were replaced with postmodern sculptures that she didn’t quite understand.

Lena would get a kick out of this place.

She sprinted towards the bar and paid no mind to the group of women in suits. _Yup, severely underdressed for the occasion._

“Hey, I’m looking for Sara — I was told she works here.”

“Your safest bet would be upstairs,” He stated, then grinned. “I suggest giving the roulette a quick spin.”

This better be worth it, or Alex might just keel over in defeated exhaustion. She’d been up since 5AM for work and exerted the rest of her energy at group; it was a wonder how she was still upright at the moment. It was probably the prospects of having Sara’s French 75 again, albeit in less fancy attire.

She walked up the stairs to find a handleless door with a roulette attached on its front. Heeding the bar-tending riddler’s instructions, she spun the wheel until she felt a click and gingerly pushed it open.

And there she was, mid-conversation with a leggy class act as she poured her a martini.

Honestly, was Sara constantly on the prowl for women to bed? She could be wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt while slinging cocktails behind the bar, and flocks of women would still surround her like moths to a flame. Who wouldn’t? Alex would pay good money to spend hours watching her pour drinks; there was a gravitating charm (more so than usual) to her when she was working in her element.

“Alex,” Sara breathed, a stunned expression on her face. “Hey.”

She ignored the way her blue eyes swept her from head to toe, probably questioning her attire of choice: leather jacket, jeans, and boots. Judging from the way the woman glowered from behind Sara, it was safe to assume that she wasn’t too happy with Alex for stealing the blonde away from her.

“Another redhead, huh?”

She smirked, “Jealous of Guinevere?”

“I’m not the one skulking right now, so no.”

As Sara studied her curiously, Alex propped her chin onto her hand and stared right back at her in feigned innocence. “Can I order my drink now or what?”

Alex wasn’t exactly sure where this newfound audacity came from, but _god_ was it fun to watch Sara stumble for once. She kept her gaze on the bartender, observing her closely as she proceeded to mix a drink without catching the order. Whatever it was, she was sure it’d be good.

Why did she come looking for her again? _Damn it, soldier. Stay focused._ Right, she was supposed to be confronting Sara about playing hooky and not having the courtesy to inform her about it, either. (Maybe also the party thing if she was able to work it into their conversation.)

Pouring the shaken contents into an ice-filled collins glass, she garnished it with a lavender sprig and lemon slice before placing it on the counter. Alex bent over and took a quick sip from the straw that Sara so graciously popped in at the last minute.

“Well?”

“Tastes like a sorority gathering on a beach in Florida.”

Sara frowned incredulously, “That’s oddly specific.”

“It’s good, though. Not my usual taste.”

When a new set of elitist customers (who so happened to be the same women in suits from before) appeared at the bar, Alex continued to nurse her drink as Sara turned to take down five orders of dry martinis. (Again? She mused on how often she got to make fancy drinks like the one currently in her hand.) Despite the blatant gawking of one of the blondes, Sara paid the ravishing group no mind, hastily stirring their martinis as if she had somewhere else to be.

Once they were gone, she spun on her heel and approached Alex’s side of the bar again.

“So, what’re you doing at Roulette?”

Alex sighed, “Would like to meet a nice man and settle down. Preferably one with a sizable trust fund.”

“Could’ve asked me,” Sara stated, a look of pure amusement on her face. “I’d hook you up with Oliver, he’s a pretty sizable man.”

The playful smirk she flashed was enough to send Alex groaning loudly, the taste of lavender lingering on her tongue as she stuck it out in disgust. Although Sara had just insinuated that she and Oliver used to be together (or a one night stand, who really knew when it came to Sara Lance), she couldn’t help but notice the way her heart skipped a beat when the blonde smiled.

She took a long sip from her drink to mask her thoughts. “When does your shift end?”

“4AM, give or take. It’s my turn to clean up the place after closing.”

“Oh my god, that’s late. I actually live close by so you could crash at my place if you’re too tired to cycle home.”

 _Run. Hurdle past the bar, push past the Suits, and run for the emergency exit._ Why did Alex say that? The words spilled out too quickly for her to stop herself, and now she found herself staring wide-eyed at an equally as astonished Sara, each woman waiting for the other to say something.

“It’s fine,” Sara stated simply. “The house might get burned down if I’m gone for too long.”

She never would have thought Zari for a pyromaniac, but perhaps it was for the best that she didn’t prod. Moreover, Sara’s not-so-secret admirer was back with an empty martini glass and doe eyes. The timing of her arrival had never been more perfect.

Unfortunately, she left before Alex could make her great escape.

She chuckled awkwardly, clearing her throat before muttering, “There are a lot of women here,”

It’d be wrong to say that Sara laughed, because she didn’t — she guffawed. Tired of waiting for the blonde to compose herself, Alex removed the sprig from her empty glass and flung it in her general direction. (She missed from a point-blank shot; Lieutenant Jones would be pissed.)

“Alright, rude.” Sara said, bending over to pick up the flower. “For a doctor, you don’t pick up on a lot of the signals around you.”

Before giving in to the urge to reply bitterly, Alex closely scrutinized the venue. Superficially, it had a strong 1920’s vibe that she admittedly quite liked. But as she recounted all that she had seen in the last two hours, from the paintings of violets and lavenders, to the sculptures of feminine bodies, to the unapologetic flirtatious looks from women in extravagant pantsuits…

Oh.

“Roulette turned into a _gay_ speakeasy?”

“Lesbians are suckers for the aesthetic,”

* * *

Alex fell asleep sometime after texting Sara the address to her apartment and clearing up the pile of dirty laundry on her couch. While her brain was inundated with new thoughts and feelings about what transpired just minutes ago, she wrapped herself up in her comforter and immediately knocked out before allowing herself to spiral.

The violent noise of her phone buzzing on the tabletop woke her up, and she almost thought about hurling it into the wall. She picked it up without glancing at the screen — the darkness outside already let her know that it was too early for someone to be calling her.

“Hello?” It wasn’t so much a clear greeting as it was a neanderthal grunt.

“Hey, I’m outside.”

Alex let the phone fall from her hands and laid there, resolved not to leave her bed. When a soft knock came from her front door, she moaned tiredly as she dragged herself away from the warm covers and carelessly threw on a sweatshirt that was laying about.

“Kara?”

“Close.”

She rubbed her eyes with a yawn. Once her vision finally cleared up, so did the blonde leaning against her door frame. She suddenly grew self-conscious of the raggedy shorts she was wearing. “Sara?”

“Good morning, sundrop.”

It was bizarre to see Sara Lance in her living room, sitting on the edge of the couch as if she was ready to leave on the first sign of inconvenience. Alex rummaged through her closet and pulled out the items on top of the stacks: an old Stanford t-shirt and sweatpants from her softball days. She passed the clothes to Sara who returned a grateful but uneasy smile.

“Get over yourself and go to bed,” Alex grumbled, a lightness in her tone. “I’m not done sleeping, y’know.”

As her guest retreated into the bathroom to change, she crawled back into bed and stared at the ceiling. Although she wanted to sleep, she didn’t think she could anymore, especially since Sara was here and witnessed her corgi-covered pajama shorts. She winced, beating herself up for not putting on longer pants or socks or anything that could’ve made her appear less like a 14-year-old kid.

“Hey, do you have an extra set of pillow and blanket?”

Oh, god fucking damn it!

How she wished she had gone to Sink, Shower, and Stuff with Kara earlier this month. Surprisingly, there had never been the need for a spare pillow or blanket before today. She didn’t even have a single decorative cushion or a fleece throw that could be used for the night.

Alex sat up, swallowing the last shreds of her pride. “These are the only ones I own.”

There was still a part of her that believed this was all a lavender-provoked dream. In fact, up till group, everything else seemed pretty darn surreal. Maybe she had actually gone home after today’s session, fallen asleep, and Roulette was still a Vegas-themed shit-show with terrible vodka. Maybe the image of Sara being in her apartment and wearing a shirt from her alma mater was her unresolved feelings passive-aggressively steering the dream wheel.

Moving her (only) pillow over, she gestured for Sara to sleep on the bed with her. She removed her sweatshirt and balled it up into a makeshift surface for her head before laying back down, her head turned to face the wall. The bed dipped slightly, the covers were tugged on gently, and then it was complete silence.

Alex prayed for Sara not to feel her vehement heart thumping from the other side of the mattress.

* * *

Unable to fall back asleep, Alex watched the sun rise as light filtered through the gaps between the windows and curtains. Sara, on the other hand, was essentially dead to the world, fully unfazed by the brightness leaking into the apartment. She slinked out of bed as gingerly as she could, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty.

It turned out that their backs had been facing each other this whole time, but she had been too nervous to turn and look during the night. Her blonde hair was sprawled all over the pillow that Alex couldn’t quite make out where her face started and neck ended. (This would have been the part of the one night stand where she left the place soundlessly without figuring out who exactly she went to bed with.)

She left her apartment in an outfit that was less comfortable but more acceptable to be seen in public. It was still fairly early in the morning and she was convinced that Sara wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, so she decided it’d be the perfect window of opportunity to pick up some groceries at Walmart, considering that all she had in the fridge were tomatoes.

Free from exhaustion and tipsiness, Alex realized that she was still left with many questions. Nate assumed that she had agreed to show up to the party, the one that Lena and Kara were both invited to as well. Would it appear too much like a hostage situation if she baited Sara for answers with breakfast foods?

(This was the first time Alex had a girl over and they didn’t even fuck. Go figure.)

Granted, she didn’t _bring_ Sara home. She left an open invitation in case the blonde felt that she was too tired to ride back home. Falling asleep on the wheel (or handlebars) was a serious and deadly matter, so Alex was glad that she showed up at her doorstep at god only knew what time.

She wondered why she hadn’t taken up her offer when she word-vomited it out. Had she been too proud, or was there really a likelihood of her house burning down because of her absence? Since when did she start working at Roulette; did her presumably new job mean that she wouldn’t be attending group anymore?

Sara was so mysterious — maybe that was why she liked her. Human beings had strange attractions to things they didn’t fully understand.

It could also just be her.

By the time she reached home with two paper bags of groceries in tow, Sara was still fast asleep, except she had taken the liberty to claim the whole bed to herself. Alex laughed out of delight, simultaneously grateful that she hadn’t been forcefully kicked off sometime in the night.

She went through her daily routine (as quietly as she managed to) of preparing a pot of coffee, going through her emails, sneaking bites of her sesame bagel, and cleaning up any stale stragglers in the pantry. It wouldn’t entirely be a lie to say that she was simply going through the motions to distract herself from the unconscious blonde in her bed — she was also burying the sick feeling of enjoyment she felt from doing dumb shit like preparing breakfast for someone else or remembering how they liked their coffee.

“Do I smell coffee?”

Alex grinned to herself. “Good morning, sundrop. Milk is in the fridge.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Sara shuffled over, completely unaware of the disarray her hair was in. “Is that… a fruity pebbles doughnut?”

“It was that or the family-sized cereal box.”

“The missus has truly outdone herself,” Smirking, Sara grabbed a mug and poured herself a generous amount of coffee. “Thank you, by the way.”

“It’s coffee and a doughnut.”

“No, for letting me crash in your bed.”

“Of course, it’s no big deal at all. Come by whenever!”

Sticking true to her nature of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, Alex suddenly became enraptured by her own caffeine and ignored how it burned her mouth as she drank. The pain was significantly better than the embarrassment of looking Sara in the eye after her open-ended sleepover invitation.

How was it possible that she felt uncomfortably awkward in her own damn apartment? And Sara, who was busily working at her sugary breakfast in large chomps, appeared more at-home in the _Stanford Class of_ _‘09_ shirt than ever. It’d be pretty nice to do this every morning.

Nope! Not letting that thought train go down the tracks.

“It seems like your job at Roulette is gonna stop you from coming to group.”

She shrugged and popped a lone pebble into her mouth. “Yeah, I dunno. The money is good and all...”

“But group is important.”

“Yeah. _Group_ is important.”

Maybe it was Alex who needed a little bit of convincing on the importance of group; reminding herself of how much she had to lose would put her feelings for Sara in perspective. At the same time, she also really didn’t need to be caught in the middle of some melodramatic love triangle between Lena, Sara, and herself.

“Heard there’s a party for Jax next week,” Alex casually said, picking at the stray sesame seeds on the counter with a package sticker. “Nate invited me since Kara and Lena are going to be there too.”

Sara looked like she was about to cough up her cereal doughnut at the mention of the graduation party, or was it at the mention of Lena? Regardless, she seemed rather caught off-guard by the smooth transition into the conversation, her fingers drumming mindlessly at her coffee cup.

Well, Alex’s coffee cup. In Alex’s clothes. In Alex’s apartment.

“Are you planning on coming?”

“So you guys can prepare the right amount of canapé?”

They stayed silent for a good while, with Alex slowly clearing the countertop of sesames and Sara sipping at her emptying coffee. It was obvious that she had a reason for not inviting her earlier, and it wasn’t difficult to decipher it, either. She’d seen all the signals whenever they were around each other. Hell, there were practically sign boards with _Luthor and Lance_ painted in thick block letters.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t invite you.”

“I’m not mad,”

Sara raised a brow, “Uh-huh. There’s a reason why I didn’t.”

Alex nodded. _Lena._ Neither spoke for a brief moment until Sara groaned, breaking the silence and caving in.

“Damn it, Alex. I didn’t invite you because Kara asked me not to.”

“What?”

“It’s not for me to say, but she’s figuring some things out, okay? Well, they are both figuring things out and wanted to do it freely in a neutral, judgement-free zone without having to worry about anything else.”

“Kara _and_ Lena?”

“Yeah,” Sara paused. “Now stop looking like I just broke your heart.”

Was Alex relieved that there wasn’t anything going on between Sara and Lena? Sure, but she also wasn’t very pleased with the fact that Kara felt the need to hide something — anything — from her. They hadn’t kept a secret from each other since making a pact in grade school, and that was serious business for a couple of 7 and 10-year-olds.

Lena said she had a type, one that was blonde, funny, and charming, and Sara fit that mold so perfectly. But then Alex remembered how, at the ass crack of dawn while it was pitch black outside and she was still half-asleep, she had mistaken Sara for her own baby sister. Blonde, funny, charming…

“Ah, fuck. Don’t tell them it was me.”

“No way,” Alex said, shaking her head lightly. “You’re kidding me.”

“Like I said, you always miss the signs.”

Alex felt awful. They might lead separate, hectic lives, but they still made the effort to see each other once in a while, be it in the form of Chinese-takeout-induced food comas or impromptu trips to Midvale to visit their parents. She had been so hell-bent on distracting herself from her own problems that she failed to see the collateral damage it was doing to her relationships.

In reality, she couldn’t recall the exact conversation from when she came out to Kara, convinced that she blacked out during their talk. All that she remembered were the feelings of panic, fear, and dread — panic that she would chicken out at the last minute, fear that her own sister would treat her differently (hatefully), and dread that she had to navigate through a whole new world on her own as a 30-year-old lesbian.

Kara never once let her feel alone, though, which made it sting even more. Alex had been a selfish older sister lately and she wanted to fix that.

“You really need to stop doing that,”

Frowning, Alex snapped out of her thoughts to peer at Sara, who had relocated onto the couch with her legs dangling off the side. _She’s making herself at home alright._ “Do what?”

“Giving yourself shit for literally doing nothing wrong.”

How would Sara know that that was exactly what she was doing despite not having said anything at all? She might have been crass with her insightful remark, but it was akin to something Barney would say whenever Alex dug herself into a proverbial hole.

“Anything special planned for today?”

When she shrugged indifferently, Sara continued: “Wanna hang out?”

* * *

It became clear that Sara’s definition of “hanging out” wasn’t what Alex had expected, which really convinced her to plainly stop expecting things when it came to the blonde. (She always found a way to make the temporary confusion worthwhile, though.) Even a free Saturday had to be utilized productively in Sara’s books, and so they set off to run errands.

Alex quickly realized that this was probably a ploy to make her Sara’s personal chauffeur, but she didn’t feel the slightest bit of anger even if she wanted to. With her weekly therapy session cancelled (poor Barney came down with a cold), she would have spent her day lounging around and wallowing over her guilt. At least driving around with Sara promised some kind of adventure.

Parked outside of the post office, Alex kept the bike running as she waited for Sara to complete the first, smallest task on her list of trivial shit to do that she never got around to doing. She took the chance to text Kara and ask her out on a long overdue sister-date tomorrow; it would ideally take place at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet with endless servings of pork and chive dumplings.

Once Sara returned, they traveled to their next destination: the family-run pizzeria two streets down. Why? Absolutely no clue, but Alex throttled and sped down the short distance anyway. She watched the blonde disappear into the small establishment, only to emerge shortly thereafter with an envelope in hand and bounce in her walk.

“Pay day!” Sara squealed in glee, waving the modest bills in the air.

“Another one of your many gigs?”

“Jax’s. I’m collecting it on his behalf.”

“What’s next?”

“Michael’s,” Getting back onto the bike, Sara shoved the money in her pocket and rested her arms on Alex’s shoulder. “Mona needs new pencils.”

Alex ignored the way her hands slithered down to hold onto her waist, fingers dangerously close to the sliver of bare skin above her waistband. Her grip felt intentional and firm, wholly different from the way she leaned far and back the last time they rode together. Hard to believe that that was just last week.

Sexual frustration aside, she was also beginning to see a trend in the places that they were going to — was this alleged errand list hers or was it a variety pack made up of everyone else’s chores? What ever happened to the smug son-of-a-bitch with a serious case of god complex who Alex constantly wanted to murder? Also, who the _fuck_ was Mona?

So many questions, so little time.

They ambled down the aisle of drawing materials, the faint smells of graphite, canvas paper and acrylic paint hitting Alex as soon as she stepped into the megastore. She noticed Sara regarding the shelves (yes, _shelves_ ) of pencils with confused wonder, looking rather amazed at the redundancy of lead varieties.

“Staedtler Mars,” Alex stated, pointing out the pack of mechanical pencils with a head bob. “Kara used to sketch before she started painting exclusively.”

“If she’s ever in need of a nude model…”

“I don’t think you’d be the first person she’d ask.”

Sara pouted, “That hurt my feelings, Red.”

“Just when I thought you finally learned my name.”

There was a different ring to Sara calling her by her name and by her term of endearment, or so to speak. Whereas one sounded like she sincerely wanted to capture her full attention, the other felt like a word used only to get a rise out of her. Joke's on her, though, because Alex was starting to like hearing “Red” roll off of her tongue.

(Of course, she would rather hear Sara scream her actual name in a more private setting, but that was an entirely different matter.)

“Zari’s making Persian sandwiches. Do you have any food allergies I should let her know of so we don’t accidentally poison and kill you?”

Well, that settled lunch. “Nope.”

“Great, I’ll let her know.”

When Alex didn’t immediately get on the bike, Sara shot her a puzzled look.

“Wanna steer the steed?”

Her blue eyes sparkled brightly as she beamed, and Alex knew it was the right decision.

* * *

It might’ve been a practical choice to hand the keys over to Sara (they wouldn’t need to shout over the engines to navigate back home), but dear god, the woman rode like a lunatic on the open freeway. As she sped past one car after another, all Alex could do was firmly attach herself to the pilot and pray she wouldn’t go into cardiac arrest.

Once back on the streets, she immediately recognized the gigantic complex she initially thought Sara called home. They flew past it before entering a much quieter neighborhood. She was pleasantly surprised by the view — even after living in National City for so long, she never knew there existed any landed real estates so close to the metropolis.

They pulled up in the driveway where Zari’s beat-up car was parked, looking as miserable and broken as Alex last remembered. Other than the traffic and almost-dying, she mostly gave her five stars for the scintillating conversation that they were basically forced to have. It made for an interesting encounter and future party story.

She also remembered how Zari drove off with the belief that Alex had feelings for Sara (which she did), and _holy shit_ what if she had reported her findings to her? _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—_

“You okay?” Sara asked.

“Uh-huh!”

_—fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—_

“We’re back, Zari!”

She walked over from the kitchen, the impish smirk on her face giving the impression of being in on a dirty little secret. (She was.)

“Hey! No Uber today?”

“Ah, nah.” Forcibly, Alex let out a chuckle that sounded painfully awkward. “I have my bike back.”

“Is there a story here that I don’t know of?”

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

“No,” Zari crooned, sliding a covert wink Alex’s way when Sara had her back turned to the two. “Just making small talk.”

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ After being on that bullet-speed bike ride, her heart couldn’t handle any more stress or anxiety. She gratefully accepted the cold beer from Sara, taking long gulps in a weak attempt to calm her pounding chest. It didn’t help at all, especially with Zari chuckling from the stove.

It was a fairly large house for two people, which made Alex wonder how they afforded the rent. The estate was located close enough to the city to guarantee a hefty price, even if it wasn’t in the best shape — the floorboards creaked, there were cracks in the walls, and she could hear the pipes rattling when Zari turned on the kitchen sink faucet.

The number of shoes on the shelf seemed to suggest that there were more people than she supposed.

“Is it just you and Zari?”

Sara rolled her eyes and took a swig from her bottle. “I wish. My room is upstairs, Zari shares hers with Charlie but she comes and goes as she pleases, we put a bed in the study room for Mona, and the den is basically Jax’s since he’s always there.”

“That’s a lot of people under one roof,”

“Yeah, but it works out for everyone and we all pitch in for the rent. It always gets crazy whenever the owner makes surprise drop-ins. Hank still thinks it’s just Mona, Zari, and I.”

Alex could imagine the chaos that would ensue, Sara calling the shots as the rest of them haphazardly hid any evidence of there being two extra stowaways. Judging from the way everyone else (Mona included, most likely) regarded the blonde, it was clear that she was the captain of this batshit crazy ship.

But it was her ship — her _family_. She would never willingly leave them behind.

Sara led her up the steps and Alex wasn’t sure why she was surprised to see a clean room, with laundry folded into a neat stack on her bed and clothes arranged by color on the rack (mostly black, but still remarkable). There were numerous pictures tacked onto a cork board next to the door, some including Sara and some without.

“Oh my god, is that you with bangs?”

Sara groaned, “I was young and stupid once.”

“That your sister?”

“Yeah, that’s Laurel.”

It was an old photo of two girls, one with a plastic stethoscope hanging around her neck and the other in an oversized police hat. Their toothy grins and joyful innocence were enough to tug at Alex’s heartstrings.

“Dr. Lance, huh?”

“Like I said, I was young and stupid. I’d much rather marry a doctor now.”

Alex damn near choked to death on her beer. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, hoping that her violent hacking was enough to cover up the involuntary upward curving of her lips. Thankfully, Mona came bursting into the room and provided some leeway for her to recollect herself.

“Zari says lunch or bust,” She exclaimed, her tone sounding awfully close to that of an overzealous toddler. “Bust as in she’s going to let Jax have it all.”

They headed back to the kitchen together, Sara leading the way and visibly tense at the possibility of there being no sandwiches left. As much as Alex wanted food, what Jax said upon seeing them made her wish she hadn’t left the safety of Sara’s bedroom.

“Stanford, Sara? Who’d you bang for that shirt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets 10 opportunities to punch me in the face! 
> 
> I'm so sorry for the lack of chapters in the last 2+ weeks, life has been a massive pain in the ass. It was application season and I've been applying to graduate school for the past months, which really drained the writing/creative juices out of my brain. Along with the soul-sucking job that I passionately hate but still go anyway (because bills need to be paid), it's been a little rough.
> 
> At the same time, I got distracted by a new series and was subsequently sucked into its fandom. I promise I'll be better at maintaining my focus and finishing this fic up. I'm also not convinced that the end is going to be in two chapters, so there might be another length bump.
> 
> New and seasoned readers -- thank you so much for sticking around, indulging me with kudos + comments! This is how y'all make me feel: asl;dkjfa;sldfjaosdifjl;sakdjf 💕


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